


The Alliance

by silverneko9lives0



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Romance, Awkward!Thorin, Awkwardness, BAMF!Hobbits, Courtship, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Fell Winter, Fiestiness, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, From fluffy and cute to dark...then should get fluffy again..., Loving Marriage, M/M, Made For Each Other, Marriage of Convenience, Multi, Same-Sex Marriage, Some OOC, Unrequited Crush, all the awkward..., fiesty!bilbo, sorta...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blue Mountains would not take the immigrants of Erebor. The Shire was slightly more willing. On one condition…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

#Bilbo#

The Baggins family has always been respectable. The Took family, despite being the closest thing to royalty the Shire allowed, was not.

Still, Bilbo Baggins was a part of both families and the Tookish genes in him _itched_. He wanted to be at that meeting rather than outside it, kicking his feet up off the ground where he sat on the bench while his relatives—Tooks and all the families married  _into_ the Took family—haggled with the Dwarves.

Even the dwarves over in the corner, as restless as he was though clearly much younger by comparison (he knew they were older by years, but in maturity, they were equivalent to perhaps…thirteen to sixteen years of age by hobbit reckoning).

Bilbo was thirty-three. He was still treated like a child despite being a newly accepted adult. Even so, he _loved_ the newfound freedom being an adult brought. But he also realized there were _some_ limitations.

And none of those limitations he liked. He was expected to buy his food rather than steal it from the farmers’ fields. He couldn’t go sneaking off to have a romp in the middle of the party with whoever had propositioned him last (unless he was expected or intended to marry them). Worst, he was expected to be sociable.

Bilbo did not like being sociable.

He could be cordial. He could be mature. He will smile at dinner parties, talk about Aunt Myrtle’s rheumatism and manage to look interested though he really would rather go hang himself on the party tree. But to actually _be_ sociable?

Bilbo could not be sociable. Not even when trying his hardest—

The door opened and Bungo stepped out. “Bilbo, come inside.”

Bilbo blinked. “Why?” His father narrowed his eyes. “Okay,” he says, admitting defeat. It isn’t wise to defy the command of one’s father, no matter how good of a father he is. Bilbo knew this and his father was a very good Hobbit.

It is also unwise to defy one’s mother, but he was sure his mother would have been less demanding and would have at least _tried_ to explain the shift of Bilbo waiting outside to coming in and joining the ruckus.

The hall was separated by the Hobbits and the Dwarves. Mostly it was the Tooks, but there were also the spouses of the Tooks’ children. Bilbo was the only one present out of his many, _many_ cousins.

Hobbits divulge in large families. Some don’t. Bilbo was an only child. He never quite understood why, though there was talk of a difficult pregnancy…or something along those lines.

“This is the only one you can give?” An elderly dwarf asked, eying Bilbo intensely.

“He is of age and is not betrothed,” Old Took said. “And that was the condition we agreed on, Mr. Balin. And you yourself the sex need not matter.”

Bilbo did not speak. He knew he ought to, but he didn’t want to say anything until he fully understood what was going on. So he looked around for someone to explain.

_Someone tell me what’s going on!_

A Dwarf stood and approached, cupping his chin in his large hand, forcing Bilbo’s head to stop moving and look at him. Bilbo tried not to fidget in the Dwarf’s grasp. The Dwarf was sharply featured. Every bit, even his ebony hair, seemed chiseled. His eyes were like lapis lazuli, a rare blue stone Bilbo’s mother had earrings made out of.

“He’ll do,” the Dwarf said. Bilbo blinked. His face was released and the Dwarf took Bilbo’s small hand in both of his large ones and kissed it.

Bilbo was stunned. Then he was confused. Now, he was pissed. He pulled out of the Dwarf’s grasp and backed away.

“What in the name of Yavanna is that supposed to mean?” he shouted. “ _He’ll do_?! That’s only goddess knows how many levels of insulting! I know I’m awkward,” he snapped at his shocked relatives, “But I’m not stupid. Tell me what’s going on?!”

He did not expect his outburst to be met with wry grins from the Dwarves. The uneasy glances his relatives had were expected though.

Only the Old Took seemed to be enjoying the spectacle as much as the Dwarves were.

Old Took stood. “Bilbo, my lad, a moment in private would be nice, eh?”

Bilbo followed the elder Hobbit into a sitting room.

“I’m afraid we’ve…er…arranged an alliance with the Dwarves of Erebor.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with what…oh… _oh_.” Bilbo blushed. “Er…I didn’t think that my…preferences were known.”

“Hm…parents are more observant than young’uns think. And it is true you’re of age and unbound to anyone, lad or lass. And my brain’s not so far gone in old age I never caught you’re distress.”

Bilbo twiddled his thumbs and bounced on the balls of his feet, looking anywhere but at Old Took. “So I’m to be wed to a Dwarf.”

“They’re desperate, it seems. Their settlement in the Blue Mountains isn’t as hospitable to them as one would expect. I’ve met with Mr. Balin on many occasions. It’s taken a lot of work to get this far on both Hobbit and Dwarf sides for the alliance between our people and theirs. The Dwarves of Erebor need a home. We need protection. Most Hobbits won’t like it, so we agreed on a solution the other families will at least accept.”

“Which is an arranged marriage between two males?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not going to go over well.”

“But you’ll be happy. His majesty the king isn’t good with words, apparently, and neither are you, so I thought it would be an excellent arrangement—”

“KING?!” Bilbo shouted, looking up at Old Took. “The—that—he—the— _Yavanna!_ Goddess above—why—what po—wha— _how?!_ ”

“Breathe, Bilbo. It’s not all bad. He likes you, at least. He wouldn’t have been willing to accept the arrangement if he didn’t. King Thorin is, from what I’m told, a very stubborn Dwarf. Almost as stubborn as you are, Lad.”

Bilbo stared at Old Took as though he’s lost his head.

“Bilbo?” Old Took said. “Are you all right?”

Bilbo blinked. He squared his shoulders, smiled. His vision was blurring and everything was swimming horribly around him.

“Nope,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was vocalized, and everything went black.

#Thorin#

The Descendants of Durin the Deathless are strong, noble, and enigmatic.

Thorin is no exception. He is the eldest son of Thrain, the eldest son of Thror— _King Under the (Stolen) Mountain_.

But a king without a kingdom has very little to offer. Thorin learned a lot about humbleness in his exile from Erebor, the home his people were robbed of.

The march west was rough and many died. When they settled in the Blue Mountains, it was hard. They were outcasts among their own kinsmen. Thorin may have had his pride, but he was not fool enough to let the wounds he felt fester.

He took to working as a blacksmith wherever work would have him to feed his sister and sister-sons who were the only family he had left.

But tension spread rapidly in the Blue Mountains. After many years, Thorin decided it would be best to find another place for his people. If they were unwelcome, then they were unwelcome and there was nothing to be done about that.

Balin had told him of his friend who was revered as “Old Took.” Thorin had been envious of the Hobbits living east of the mountains. They were peaceful. They did not know strife or war.

But Balin had taught him a little bit of their history and a lot of their culture.

They were sturdier than Thorin gave them credit for. These tiny creatures—smaller than his own people and softer with curls and large, unseemly feet and pointy ears and beardless chins—were amazingly hardy.

“I’d like nothing more than to give whatever land we may have to offer to your people in exchange for protection,” Old Took had said when they met. The old Hobbit smoked his pipe while he talked, eying them with interest and mischievous wisdom. “However, our people are simple and do not see need for protection beyond what we have. I know it’s needed. Most of my family does.”

The ones Thorin could identify as Tooks nodded.

“Then what do you suggest, Master Took?” Balin asked, also puffing his pipe.

Thorin thought it funny. He couldn’t see how this was a meeting. It looked more like two fussy old men having a smoke outside in the park to him.

“Hmmm…have you a member of your royal family who is unwed and of age?”

Thorin frowned. He was the only one who was of age and unwed. His sister-sons were still too young. Balin looked at him.

“Our king himself.”

“Balin, you overstep your boundaries!”

“I was under the impression you were willing to do whatever it takes for your people, my king. Besides, your sister-sons are still children and you _are_ unwed.” Thorin glared. Of course Balin would play that card. Still, Balin was _way_ out of line.

“Sir,” one of the Hobbits said. “You’re forgetting that all the daughters with connections to the Took family are either betrothed or underage.”

“That’s fine,” Balin said. “The King’s spouse need not be a female.”

“Is that acceptable?!” a lady gasped.

“For Dwarrows, it certainly is, if you’d allow it.”

“Well, then,” Old Took said, his mischievous grin becoming _more_ mischievous. “We’ve the perfect candidate then. Bungo, my lad. You brought Bilbo with you?”

“He’s outside, Sir.”

“Well, last I checked, he’s of age and unspoken for. Bring him in to meet his majesty.”

When “Bilbo” entered, Thorin was taken aback by this Hobbit’s beauty. Bilbo looked about for answers. He was as fair as his kin. Copper curls tucked behind his pale ears and his nose turned up a little. His eyes were hazel in color and Thorin couldn’t tell if he was reminded more of jade or tiger-eye by those eyes.

Bilbo was, also, unmistakably male.

Granted, he probably shouldn’t have said, “He’ll do,” before kissing the Hobbit’s hand. However, Thorin didn’t know what else to say.

He was insanely awkward in these situations and rarely ever spoke.

And as Old Took led Bilbo aside to explain to the poor Halfling what was going on, Thorin kicked himself.

_Should have kissed his hand first…maybe…better yet, shouldn’t have done anything._


	2. Thrimidge

News of orc parties traveled west.

Some can only guess as to what that means in entirety. But it can be summarized quite nicely in one, neatly packaged word:

Trouble.

I never thought it’d come to this, getting married to a Dwarf King in order to get some protection. And, in return, his people will have a home.

Of course, the wedding is still eleven months away. It’s enough time for the two of us to get to know each other.

Which should be easy, right? Thorin is like a giant dog hounding me wherever I go.

But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t look at me or hold my hand. We don’t even _talk_. I know I’m awkward, but I’m sure I’m not _that_ off putting.

I hope I’m not.

This…courting business is already awkward enough. Does he have to make it more awkward?

“Bilbo.”

I stop and turn, just as a large hand took mine and its brother placed an apple in my hand. Thorin says nothing more and walks on. I shrug and bite into the red fruit, catching up to him.

Well, it’s not all bad, I guess. Despite being less sociable than I am, he’s sweet in his own right.

I still wish he’d talk to me rather than insist on these long, awkward walks about the Shire where we say nothing at all to each other.

Maybe he doesn’t want to make me angry again, so he opts for silence. After all, his first words to me were, “He’ll do,” and then he kissed my hand.

Thinking on it, it wasn’t a bad kiss. It was soft and chaste and sweet. Yet my temper had flared. One does not, under any circumstances when they are meeting their betrothed, says “He’ll do.” No. It ought to have been, with a noble bow:

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Bilbo Baggins. I am Thorin and we are to be married in one year’s time.”

Or something like that.

I’d still have been angry, but at least, I hope, we wouldn’t have this awkwardness hanging over us.

But it seems neither one of us wants to initiate anything as far as conversation is concerned. I finish the apple and toss the core.

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods.

And the awkwardness doesn’t alleviate between us at all.

I sigh. “Uh, Thorin—”

“Bilbo Baggins!”

I turn around. Aunt Camellia ran out of her house. I seize Thorin’s hand and run. I don’t like Aunt Camellia.

“Run, Bilbo, run!” Otho shouts tauntingly at us, laughing as though this was a wonderful joke while his mother tries to pull me aside and yell at me for walking around with a Dwarf.

The irony is I’m doing nothing wrong. There’s no law in the Shire saying I can’t go on a walk with my betrothed.

I manage to hide myself and Thorin behind a barn as Aunt Camellia storms by, muttering threats under her breath.

When she’s gone, we look over.

“What was that about?” Thorin asks.

“My aunt is a nasty shrew,” I summarize. “And our engagement might be looked down on by more people than you know. Especially by my less Tookish relatives. That you’re a king would be the only redeeming quality in most of their eyes.”

“Ah.”

Closest thing to a conversation I have with him and it’s not half bad.

“What about your relatives? Do your people approve?”

“Their approval doesn’t matter,” Thorin says. “Their only complaint anyway will be that you’re not a Dwarf, if they do complain. Dwarrowdams are rare. Only one out of every three Dwarrows could be female and even then, we can never really tell between them. They grow beards like the men. Though…the braids they weave in their hair allow us to tell them apart from the men, but the braids aren’t _that_ different. So there are more same-sex marriages among my people than you think. Besides, I have heirs, so I have no need for a spouse who can bear me a child.”

“One out of three Dwarves? That’s a bit odd…”

“Even then, children are rare among our people and marriage equally so. Most of us chose to perfect our crafts over finding our One.”

I tilt my head to the side. I can’t deny that this is fascinating. “One?”

“In other races, a One is called different things. _Fae Mellon_ by the Elves—and that will be the only time I speak their language, mark me.” I nod. I know of the enmity between Elves and Dwarves. “To the Men, they are called Soul Mates. I don’t know what they are called by Hobbits.”

“Same as the Men: Soul Mates,” I say. Thorin nods.

“The belief is that a soul is cleaved in two and placed in two bodies. Men and Elves will not bind themselves to one person, but a Dwarf only gives their heart away once.”

“Same as Hobbits,” I clarify, grinning. “We aren’t talkative about same-sex relationships, but we understand one’s Soul Mate isn’t always going to be someone who can have children. We’re more like Men than you might think, but we aren’t so thick headed as they are.”

Thorin nods.

“Is it clear to Dwarves who their One is?”

Thorin smiles. “Is it to Hobbits?”

I guess it was a silly question to ask. A person can never know who their Soul Mate, or, as Thorin puts it, their One, on sight.

It’d be easier if it did work that way. Get rid of all the second guessing and odd courtship rituals…

We peek out. Is it safe yet? Aunt Camellia has not come back. We venture out and the awkward silence returns.

We continue to walk. Whenever we passed someone by, depending on whether they heard the news yet, we’d either get a smile and nod, an odd and scandalized gasp, or (mostly from the children) awe.

The awe must be for Thorin. I understand why. He’s tall for a Dwarrow and thickly muscled. Each time I touch him, I’m reminded of stone. If not for the warmth his body created, I’d guess he was a statue come to life.

Aunt Camellia is back and marching toward us. “Bilbo Baggins!”

Nowhere to run or hide! She seizes my ear. “Ow!”

“Does your mother know who you’re consorting with?! What would your father say?!”

“Aunt Cam, there’s nothing bad about it—”

Her hand is pulled away and I massage my ear. Thorin releases her. “Don’t touch my fiancé,” he growls. I blink. Camellia stares at him, her face draining to ashen.

“ _Fiancé_?” she repeats.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” I say, “I thought it’d have come to this part of the Shire by now.”

“You’re getting married to Dwarf?!”

“If you don’t like it, talk to Old Took,” I say.

“A DWARF?!!”

I sigh. She won’t hear a word more in this state. I take his hand in mine and pull Thorin away from my flabbergasted aunt.

“Stop glaring.”

“She had no right to touch you like that.”

“No. She didn’t, but there isn’t much I can do about it anyway. She’s been told time and time again not to and yet _never_ listens. I pity Otho. She’s his mother. It must be worse for him than it is for me. But she attacks me whenever she gets the chance because I’m the son of the head of the Baggins family, one of the most _respectable_ Hobbit families in the Shire still around.”

“Marrying a Dwarf brings your family low?”

“In her mind, yes,” I sigh. “But I’m also a Took, by my mother’s side. Though the Tooks are the wealthiest family and the closest thing to lords and kings in the Shire, they— _we_ —are not respectable by most standards of the Shire. Marrying a Dwarf, to Hobbits like Camellia, is scandalous. Add that we’re both men and… _voila,_ the Baggins family’s reputation is down the drain. Never mind that you’re a king. That won’t matter to them.”

“So our arrangement causes you grief.”

“No,” I say a little too quickly. Thorin stares at me. “Well…a little, but not because you’re a Dwarf or a man…it’s more to do that…we…don’t really talk.”

“We’re talking now,” Thorin points out.

“That’s true.” How to word it right? “What I mean is that we don’t talk much. We’ve been courting for nearly a month now and I still feel you’re a stranger to me. I know nothing about you and I think it’s the same for you about me. Does that make sense?”

Thorin nods. “It doesn’t help not knowing where to begin.”

“True.”

We delve into another awkward silence interrupted only by a mother duck leading her ducklings to the Brandywine.

“Erm…why exactly was the alliance made?”

“My people are exiled from our homeland. It was stolen from us by a dragon.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine a dragon destroying the Shire and driving us out.

Thorin tells me the tale of how his people were driven out of their mountain by Smaug the Terrible, a fire-drake.

He recounted the effort to reclaim Moria to me and the murder of his grandfather and the disappearance of his father, leaving him the sole leader of his people.

He told of his work as a blacksmith in different villages as he traveled west with his people trying to provide for his remaining family, a sister and two sister-sons not yet of age.

“We came to the Blue Mountain several years ago, but strife is ever present between the refugees and the native inhabitants of Ered Luin. It became apparent we were not wanted though we are kin, and I decided it was best to set out again. Balin, my advisor, suggested we seek asylum in the Shire. It is not a mountain like we are used to, but we have managed through villages of Men efficiently enough. Still, it does not help having a place to not call home.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your home.”

“I hope you never have to find out,” Thorin said, his voice filled with emotion and his expression dark. It’s hard to overlook. He clearly misses Erebor. I can’t blame him. I’d miss the Shire if in his place.

I rest my hand on his forearm. Thorin blinks, looking at me with unadulterated curiosity.

“Well, I don’t know if it means much now and the Shire may not be a mountain, but it is a good place. And we do live underground, so our people are similar in that respect. It may be a while, but I do not doubt that the Hobbits and the Dwarves will become good allies. Hopefully our marriage will be beneficial for us and not just our people.”

Thorin smiles, taking my hand off his arm and squeezing it gently in his. “I hope for the same.”


	3. Forelithe

The Shire is bustling to ready for Mid-Year’s Day, that is, the Twenty-fourth of Forlithe. Old Took insisted on the preparations being much grander than usual to invite the Dwarves who will soon become Shire-inhabitants too.

As it is, it is my job to teach Thorin what to expect and how to act at these festivals.

It’s something I dread doing as I’ve never really managed to get it exactly right, much to my Da’s despair, but oh well.

“The…quadrille?” Thorin asks, letting the word roll on his tongue. He scowls. “It sounds Elvish.”

“It’s…I don’t know if it is, but as far as I know it’s not.” Thorin crosses his arms and scowls at me. I glare back. “I’d like nothing better than to forget everything about this, but we are _engaged_ , Thorin, and you’re people are going to live in the Shire. There will be cultural mashing so you might as well suck it up, get on your feet and let me teach you how to dance!”

“I don’t see the point of this. I’m a warrior. A _King_.”

“Kings dance.”

“Not Dwarrow Kings.”

I smirk. “They do now.” I pull his hand, forcing him to get to his feet. “I wish it was more fun of a dance, but it’s not as bad as you may think. I don’t think it’d be easy for you to play the lady’s roll, so I’ll do take that part and I’ll guide you through it. Is that fair enough?”

Thorin groaned, nodding. He still scowled. I took one of his hands and placed it around my waist.

Thorin’s hands are huge and they marvel me every time. My hands aren’t delicate, and have been calloused from climbing trees and a little gardening, and they’re distinctly masculine. Yet Thorin’s hands make mine seem more fairylike than I ever thought they’d be.

I hold out my other hand. “Your other hand, Thorin,” I demand. He takes my hand in his. I lead him as best I can in the steps.

“This is ridiculously simple.”

“No it’s not. There’s another part and I can never remember…yeah. The likelihood of perfecting the dance is slim.”

“Then why dance it?”

“Because that’s what respectable Hobbits do. They memorize boring dances. Not go trekking in East Farthing Wood to climb trees and pretend they’re off in the East fighting trolls and dragons.”

Thorin laughed. “A boy’s fancy.”

“I’m glad you agree. Most of my companions grew out of it. It’s a bit sad that they did. I never seemed to lose the fancy. Er…I think after a while the spinning stops and…blast it…”

Thorin stopped, halting us while I raked my brain for the next figure.

Nope. Poop.

“I guess we could just embarrass ourselves in public just for the fun of it…”

Thorin glared.

“Or not…”

“I’d not mind it,” a voice called from the tree above. The two dwarves from the meeting between our people sat up there. “Would you, Fi?”

“I certainly wouldn’t, Ki.”

Thorin released me. “What are you two doing? Get down here before you break your necks!”

“We’re tougher than that, Uncle!” The one named Ki retaliated.

“ _Kili_ …”

“Fine,” Ki—Kili—climbed down. His blond brother followed suit.

“You still have to learn to dance for these fussy Hobbits, Uncle,” Fi answered.

“Why are you two here anyway?”

“Because you’ve no chaperone!”

“It’s horribly inappropriate,” Kili gasped. “Fili and I were just trying to keep everyone from gossiping too much! It’s _scandalous_ enough that the King of the Dwarves of Erebor is marrying a _male Hobbit_ , but to be un-chaperoned _during_ the courtship?”

“All the kindly old Hobbitesses keep wagging their tongues! We had to shut them up if just a little.”

“What does everyone think we’ll do?” Thorin snapped at them.

“Well, there’s always the classical having a romp in the corn field,” Fili joked, stroking his stubbly beard. I shouldn’t have blushed, but my face felt oddly warm. Thorin boxed Fili’s ears.

Kili snickered.

“That’s not funny! It hurt!”

“I’ve no time for your antics,” Thorin growled. “Go back to camp and _stay there_.”

“But Balin’s got a boring lesson,” Kili complained.

Thorin smirked nastily. I blinked, watching.

“Balin’s lessons will be a blessing when I’m done with you two when I get back,” he growled.

“But Uncle—”

“ _Get going._ ”

“Well fine. Uncle Bilbo,” Fili said. “Good luck. And the next part is right, right, left, left, spin, repeat.”

“Oh yeah…wait!” They were already running away. I glare at the two youths. “Your nephews are trouble.”

“Have I not told you that?”

“Probably while I was telling you about my Took relatives?”

“Perhaps.”

#

On the day of Mid-Year’s Eve, the Shire was busier than before.

There would be Dwarves in attendance, after all. There was talk of how it would be the first celebration to honor the alliance between Shire and the Erebor Refugees.

I am convinced that Thorin and I, by my fault alone, will muddle the dance terribly. But we still practiced as often as we could find the time to practice.

I tug on my waistcoat, unsatisfied with my appearance. There’s nothing wrong. Nothing out of place. I simply feel _suffocated_.

There’s a knock on the door and Mother goes to answer.

“Mr. Gandalf!” she cries. I dart into the hallway to see the wizard. “Come in, come in,” she said, taking his hat and the staff. He entered and glanced about, rubbing his palms together.

His gaze shifted to me. “Bless my beard, Bilbo Baggins!”

I smile, stepping forward.

“Last I saw you, you had just turned thirty. Goodness, it’s been a long time.”

“Not that long,” I say. “I’m thirty-three now.”

“So I see. You’re dressed like a grown man.”

“More than that,” Mother said, nudging me teasingly with her elbow. “I don’t know how much news you come by on your travels, Gandalf, but my Bilbo is to be married next Thrimidge.”

“ _Mum_!”

“Married?” Gandalf echoed, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.

“To his majesty King Thorin,” she says, explaining the events of two months ago. My face grew redder and redder and I wished I could disappear. Make myself invisible. Anything!

Gandalf listened with rapt attention, following my mother into the parlor. He glanced at me every so often.

“I was unaware the Hobbits practiced same-sex marriages as the Dwarves do.”

“Well, we didn’t. But now, we won’t be having just same-sex, but interracial marriages as well. It’ll be interesting when the time comes for little Dwobbits running about. If you think about it, it sounds quite adorable.”

_Somebody kill me now._

I bang my head against the banister.

“Bilbo, dear, you’ll give yourself brain damage, doing that.”

“Yes, Mum,” I groan. There’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” I volunteer, rushing for the door. Thorin stands outside, staring at the cart. “Oh, you’re here. Good.” I step outside.

“Have you a guest?”

“Family friend,” I say, “haven’t seen him in ages. Talking to my mother. Would rather keep it that way for now.” I push Thorin toward the gate as I ramble.

“Bilbo!” Mum shouts. “Rather than run off, I suggest you have a nice cuppa with Mr. Gandalf.”

“Gandalf?” Thorin repeated.

He seized my wrist and pulled me back into the smial. He releases my wrist and I ignore Mum’s stern glare, twiddling my thumbs. I tried, but getting out of this predicament will be harder than I thought.

“So it is you.”

“And your eloquent speech hasn’t improved in the slightest, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf laughed, drinking out of one of mum’s china teacups. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

_Somebody shoot me dead! Please!!_

“Thank you.” Thorin sat down. Mother pushed me over and I sat beside him, trying to look small.

“How are you finding Hobbits?”

“Quite agreeable,” Thorin sighed, “If not little, bigoted busybodies.”

Gandalf frowned, glaring at Thorin, who glared back. “And how do you think of Young Master Baggins?”

_Oh, bloody hell, he’s actually going to give a king shovel talk?! Is that even allowed?_

I glance at Thorin. He smirked. “My fiancé is very handsome and kindhearted. I’ve not a boring moment so far with him and there seems to be something new to discover about him. His cheer is inviting and I am honored to bring him into my clan.”

“So you believe he is your One?”

Thorin blinked. I look from him to Gandalf. “I believe he is.”

I hide my face in my hands, trying to collect myself and fight down this bloody blush!

Gandalf hums. “Well, I think we are at an accord. I advise you to remember this much, Thorin Oakenshield: there is a dragon in Erebor right now and if anything were to befall or dispirit Bilbo, I’m quite sure you and I could make a trip to Erebor for a dinner party. I bet Smaug gets awfully hungry and lonely.”

_Yikes._

I glance at Thorin. He looks a tad bit nervous. I can’t blame him. I’d be nervous to.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Thorin said.

“Good.” Gandalf stood. “I have a tent down by the Party Tree to set up. I’ll see you both tonight. Again, congratulations to you both on your engagement.”


	4. The Mid-Year Festival

When the door closed behind Gandalf, I looked at Thorin. “Is he even allowed to talk to you like that?”

“He’s the only one who can get away with it.”

“Fair enough,” I say. Thorin glared at me. “What? You aren’t unnecessarily cruel and neither am I. I won’t let Gandalf feed you to a dragon.” I’m a little surprised by my own words, but pleasantly so.

Mum smirks at us.

“I should get my coat,” I sigh. I really wish I wasn’t in such stuffy clothes. It’d be nice to be in something looser and far more comfortable.

Thorin follows, waiting outside my door while I slide my arms through the coat sleeves. It’s a lightweight coat, for the warm weather, and meant for special occasions such as the Festival. I return to his side. “Ready to go?”

Thorin stares at me long enough to make me feel self-conscious. Have I done something wrong?

“Thorin?”

He pins me to the wall and before I can demand an answer from him, he kisses me. It’s rough. At first. Then calms down enough for my shock to ebb and I kiss him back. He pulls away first.

I smirk. “Are you really that glad I won’t let a wizard feed you to a dragon?”

He smirks back, “Among other things.”

“Like?”

“Do you not know? Words are not my strong suit. Our first meeting was horrifically lacking in decorum. I was afraid, Bilbo, at first, especially since I was the only one in my family who yet lives and is old enough to wed. I did not know or appreciate being propositioned to marry someone I do not know.”

“Well, I know the feeling…”

Thorin nodded. “I thought you fair, but not Elfish, which helped. My people and Elves…” he snarled, but did not explain further. “It is rare for a Dwarf to come across their One. Rarely any of us marry and we care not for the sex our One is, even if they cannot bear children. Sometimes, we know them on sight, other times we do not. I could not tell for sure if you were my One, though you are my betrothed. Not until now. I love you, Bilbo Baggins, and I offer you my heart. Truly. Not as a king but as a Dwarf…”

I blink, letting what he’s told me roll around in my head. He rambled, though there was no need to, and now his mouth is closed so tightly, I fear his jaw is locked.

What do I say? It’s been two months and I never believed he felt this way for me.

Like he said, he’s bad with words.

But so am I, in my own way.

“You didn’t have to explain yourself at all.” I take his hands in mine. “It is true our first meeting was awkward, but I don’t think there was any way around that. Besides: you’re actions speak loud enough, and you are very kind, Thorin, if not a little stubborn.” I kiss both of his hands, and smile. “Shall we go?”

Thorin could only nod. I don’t know if he was shocked or touched or both, but he said no more words. I keep a hold on one hand and pull him to the door.

Mother arches an eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes at her.

“Try not to bugger the dance too badly.”

“Mum!”

#

The festival began with a feast. I know Hobbits can get pretty rowdy, but I should have guessed that Dwarves were _rowdier_. Everyone was laughing, drinking, singing.

The children, both Hobbit and Dwarf, were around Gandalf, enjoying his fireworks with glee.

Old warriors were telling stories about battles and quests they had been on to the little ones when they had grown tired of Gandalf’s fireworks.

Several Dwarves were flirting with other Hobbits, be they male or female. And several lady Hobbits would flirt right back—especially the younger ladies who found the idea of Dwarven husbands dashing.

When the dancing was about to begin, Thorin did not wait for my queue. He pulled me to my feet and _led me through the dance_.

“You learned it?”

“Fili and Kili are decent teachers when they put their minds to it. They don’t do so often, but they’re bright boys when it suits them. Besides, I _refuse_ to bugger a simple dance like this.”

He lets me go holds his right-hand out to me. I place my right on his, and step forward, back, forward, back, and switch to the left.

“They are marvelous teachers then, because I knew I was doing terribly.”

“You don’t mind.”

“I’m actually quite relieved.”

The dance floor filled with others: Dwarf-Dwarf partners, Hobbit-Hobbit partners, and Dwarf-Hobbit partners joined the dance.

I suppose it didn’t matter if we got it right because the dance was being buggered one way or other and it was all merry fun!

The dance picked up in pace and we tripped a little. Thorin scowled to hide his embarrassment. I laughed happily. No one was watching and no one cared.

“I think that’s enough dancing for one night,” Thorin muttered, dropping his hands.

“Oh no you don’t!” I snapped, taking his hands back.

Because the traditional dance had been wrecked (and many of the older Hobbits were bemoaning the butchery of it), it had been abandoned for something more free form. There was a lot of laughing, spinning, and running into each other.

No one cared.

I tried to pull Thorin into a spin, but he pulled a fast one and I was the one being led again as he spun me around, pull me close, pushed me back—it was quite fun and Thorin couldn’t resist beaming.

Eventually there was too much bumping into each other going on, so everyone on the dance floor linked arms and pulled in one direction until someone decided to shove the person latched to their other arm and shift the dance elsewhere.

Many were staring at Thorin as though he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had, but I only cared that he enjoyed himself. And if he wasn’t enjoying himself, then I am a warg’s uncle.

Thorin pulled us out of the dance. It continued on without us. We collapsed onto a nearby table, trying to catch our breath, which was hard to do because we were laughing so hard.

Fili and Kili, who had joined the circle with other older children and tweens, were trying to shift it every few seconds. It caused amused screams and happy laughter.

Our laughter calmed enough so that we only breathed heavily.

“You’re beautiful,” Thorin whispered in my ear, nuzzling his face into my hair.

I blushed, though it’s probably unnoticeable as we are both quite flushed from the dance.

“Thank you.”

“I mean it, Bilbo. You are beautiful.”

I looked at my feet, unable to look anywhere else. I’m suddenly quite thirsty. I look up and grin at Thorin, my sudden movement forced him to move away.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be back then.” I left the table to get two mugs of ale.

I know Thorin admitted he loved me. I believe him, but we’re so pumped with adrenaline at the moment I am having a hard time believing the words coming out of his mouth right now.

I know I’m comely. Most Hobbits are. And yet, while I have been called a handsome fellow in my life so far, “beautiful” was never something I’ve been deemed as at all. I never associated myself with the word and no one dared to try.

I don’t even know how to respond to the compliment. “Thank you” will simply have to do until I’m used to it, I guess.

I return to the table Thorin waits at and hand him one of the mugs. I sit beside him again, drinking fast.

The sky is black, dotted in diamond stars and the moon is a large crescent in the shape of a smile beaming down on us. It’s rare for the moon to look like a smiling mouth, but it does tonight. I can’t tell if it’s romantic or eerie.

Maybe it’s both.

Several fireworks fly past us over the Brandywine and explode in loud, fiery, colored booms, filling the sky with smoke.

I’m starting to feel cold. I lean against Thorin and he envelopes me in his large arm. I press his face into his chest. “Cold?”

I nod.

Thorin pulls me onto his lap. He’s warmer than I thought.

“I love you,” he says.

I lean against his chest. “I love you too. I think.”

Thorin laughed. “Leave it to Hobbits to ruin the moment.”

“You’ve ruined plenty a moment before I did, so don’t get all hoity-toity, _my lord King_.”

“Indeed I have.”

“So I don’t know one hundred percent if I love you. I care enough about you at least, even if you are clingy.”

“I am not clingy.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Mahal! Stop! You’re going to kill us all,” Fili begged, having come close enough to hear the conversation. “You’re being sickeningly cute! It’s not like you, Uncle!”

“Fili,” Thorin growled, “Go away.”

“Gladly!”


	5. Afterlithe

I wake to golden sunlight lighting my room.

I open my eyes to register that it is morning, then bury myself deeper into the covers.

Thorin and the Dwarves have been busy constructing their new homes close to the Brandywine where Hobbits do not dare to go.

But with the Dwarfish population beginning to reside there, more hobbits are venturing down. Whether for curiosity or newfound relationships between them, I cannot say exactly.

Likely it is both.

The door to my room opens.

“Bilbo,” Mother says, “Are you awake?”

I slide further into my bed, curling into a ball.

“Thorin is downstairs waiting for you.”

That woke me. I sit up, covers splayed on my lap.

“Why is he here so early?”

“I thought you would know?”

“He’s been busy with construction,” I say, getting out of bed. “We haven’t had much chance to talk since the Mid-Year Festival. He’s been famished each time we meet at the Dragon.”

Why this matters, I don’t know.

I smile at Mother. “Could you tell him I’ll be down soon?”

She smiled. “Of course, Dear.”

I bathe and dress as quickly as allowable.

I feel against the clock, not wanting to make him wait longer than necessary.

I run down the stairs.

Dwalin is with Thorin, complimenting my mother on her biscuits, a goofy grin on his face.

Thorin slouches on the couch, rolling his eyes at Dwalin. He stands when I enter the room.

“I apologize for coming so early and unexpectedly.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s quite all right,” I say, smiling. “I’m glad you were able to get a break from the work down at the river.”

Thorin nodded, “As am I.”

“Give me a break,” Dwalin snapped. “The two of you should just shag all ready. Ye’r killin’ me with the cutesy drama.”

“Dwalin,” Thorin said, smiling nastily. “Why exactly did you come here? Was it really out of loyalty to your King or was it for Mrs. Baggins’ pastries.”

I grimaced. “For the love of Eru, that’s my mother!”

Dwalin blinked. “She’s a right lady, yer mum.”

I shook my head, trying to stave off the horror that Dwalin is none to shy about his crush on my mother.

Thorin smirks.

He is clearly enjoying this more than he should!

“You know she’s married, right, Dwalin?”

Dwalin shrugged. “No harm in complimenting her baking.”

Thorin snorted.

I glared at him, then at Dwalin.

“Stay away from my mum,” I snarl at the burly dwarf.

“I’m not going to do anything to your mum! She’s married.”

“So long as you understand that and stop flirting with her, I’ll be fine.”

Thorin pushed me out the door. “I’d like to eat at the Dragon while breakfast is still being served, Bilbo.”

“I’ve every right to tell Dwalin to stuff it where my mother is concerned.”

“And as entertaining as it is, Dwalin is completely honorable. He just really likes your mother’s cooking. It’s not something to fault him of, since I like her cooking too.”

“At least you know not to flirt with her,” I grumbled.

“Of course not,” Thorin said, opening the door. “I’m too busy flirting with you.”

I frown at him, walking out the door.

“What? Am I not supposed to shower my beloved with affection?”

“Could we stop talking about who’s flirting with whom?”

“I second that motion,” Thorin said, closing the door and following me to the street.

“Are we just going out for breakfast? Or is there something we need to discuss?” I ask. “The plans for the wedding are going as smoothly as they can be at this time.”

Balin and my mother have been helping me with most of the planning. Thorin has been keeping tabs, throwing his input in when he spoke with Balin and with me.

“I know. No. This is just breakfast, Bilbo. The wedding is well under way. Same as the construction…I would call that cause for celebration.”

I smile. “I guess so. Would it be okay if I _see_ the new homes by the river after we eat?”

Thorin nodded, taking my hand in his and kissing it.

A couple Hobbit girls we passed were flirting openly with Fili and Kili by the restaurant. The boys weren’t shy about this it seemed, smiling devilishly at the young ladies.

“You two, behave yourselves,” Thorin snapped, smirking. Fili and Kili blushed, glaring at him.

“Be nice. They’re just having some fun.”

“So I can’t have fun of my own and embarrass my own sister-sons?”

“Why would you?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?” Thorin asked.

I slap his arm. “Dwarves apparently don’t know what it really means to behave.”

“Or Hobbits are far too dour,” Thorin countered, kissing my hand. A few patronesses blush, watching us as indiscreetly as they possibly can.

“You’re going to get us thrown out, acting like this, and I’d like to eat, Thorin.”

“Very well, my love,” Thorin agreed, pulling me closer to kiss my cheek.

I feel butterflies in my stomach. The good kind of butterflies; but whether good or bad, if I don’t get something to eat soon, I’ll probably lose consciousness.

The ladies giggle, hiding their grins behind their hands. Only a few are scandalized and frowning at us.

The door opens and Dwalin steps in, followed by Fili and Kili (with their dates if breakfast counts as a date).

“Barkeep! Some sausage links!”

“Must he?” I ask.

My voice is drowned out by the screams of young ladies surrounding Dwalin.

“Well, he’s popular.”

“Which is a little odd,” Thorin agreed. “But then again, back at the festival, he had this giant following of young Hobbit lasses all vying to dance with him. I’m not sure why…”*

I shrug. “I’ll never understand women. I’m glad I’ll never have to.”

“Same here…save my sister, but she’s loony.”

“What do you mean? That’s a terrible thing to say about your sister!”

“I can only say Fili and Kili.”

I sigh. “That’s a good point.”

“Unbeatable logic.”

“I’m sure it is beatable, I just don’t want to attempt it this early in the morning on an empty stomach,” I promise.

We order breakfast, watching Dwalin retell the tale of the Battle of Azanulbizar to eager, admiring girls.

Thorin bit his lip, smirking and snorting.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m trying not to heckle him. He’s omitting a few details. For instance, The ten Orcs he claims to have taken out single-handedly…that was actually the both of us.”

I almost spit out my tea from the need to laugh.

“And the giant ugly one was actually killed by Balin and…”

I hold up my hand, “I get the picture. Dwalin’s milking the popularity for all its worth.”

“And I’m just a really good friend. Should he be careful of them?”

“Only of Lobelia. That one,” I point as a raven haired, brown eyed girl in a pink dress making goo-goo eyes at Dwalin.

“He’ll be warned as soon as possible. But at the same time…”

“I want to see him suffer to,” I admit. “Only because he likes to flirt with my mother.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“What if you caught him flirting with your mother?”

“It’d be the last thing he ever did.”

“Exactly!”

Thorin threw his head back and laughed.

Fili and Kili aided Dwalin’s tall tale, pretending to be the Orcs of Gundebad. A fork acted as a pretend weapon while they were felled by Dwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Six reasons why Dwalin is a catch to the Hobbit lasses in this fic:  
> 1\. The beard  
> 2\. Tattoos  
> 3\. Piercings  
> 4\. Muscles  
> 5\. Accent  
> 6\. Warrior


	6. Wedmath

The new houses are made of stone bought from Belegost and shipped to Hobbiton. Only a few are ready for inhabitation. Families with small children reside in them for now.

Everyone else has set up a camp, or have been given rooms in other Hobbit Holes.

Thorin and his relatives have been staying in Tuckburough at the Great Smials of the Tooks.

At this moment in particular, Thorin is aiding Balin and Dwalin in directing the construction.

A few girls are bringing water and food to the Dwarves they fancy, hoping they’d like them in turn. Seems everything is going to plan.

“Master Baggins!” Balin greets, clapping my shoulder so hard my knees buckle.

I smile at him. “Hello, Balin.”

“Here for Thorin?”

“He wanted to show me something today. I think. I hope.” It’d be awfully embarrassing if that was not the case at all and I had misheard.

“Ah, yes. He’s over there.” He pointed in Thorin’s direction.

Thorin stands on a stone platform, talking to one of the construction workers. The platform has three walls and a half of the fourth in completion. I walk up the stairs leading onto the platform. It feels odd on being able to touch the ground.

“I don’t think a second level would be necessary unless it was underground,” Thorin said. “The house should be large enough for the immediate Durin line and the families who marry into it.”

I frown. “What about Bag End?”

He turned to me. “Bag End will remain the Baggins Family, but do you intend to live there after we are wed while _your parents still reside there_?”

I chew my lip. I hadn’t thought about it that way. “No. Definitely not.”

“I thought so.” He looked about. “It’s coming along nicely,” he said, patting a wall. “It’s not a Hobbit Hole, I know, but hopefully it will resemble one in some extent when completed.”

“Which is when? If I may ask.”

“A month before our marriage.”

I look at the holes where windows will be placed later. They’re square rather than circles. I try to imagine living here. It seems cold now (probably due to the stone and the missing fourth wall).

It’s no Hobbit Hole, but Hobbits are an adaptable people enough. Given a few nice chairs, a comfy rug to keep toes warm…

“I look forward to seeing the finished work,” I tell Thorin.

Still, I feel something akin to fear and nostalgia. I’m not sure how I like the idea of leaving Bag End. A part of me doesn’t feel ready to give up my current home. Yet I know it’s inevitable.

I hope I look happy, if not excited.

I hope Thorin can’t tell I’m not keen on leaving Bag End and calling this stone house my home next Thrimidge.

It never occurred to me I would leave Bag End after the wedding. Not once. I said once I couldn’t imagine what it must feel being forced to leave my home.

Now I know. It’s like a piece of you is broken and left behind.

“Is something the matter?”

I jump and look at Thorin. I force a smile onto my face. “No. Everything is fine.” The lie hurts. I don’t want Thorin to think I don’t like the house he’s building, but I feel as though a knife has been plunging into my chest and the lie is only the second blow.

Thorin furrows his brow. “Are you sure?”

Caught? Does he know I lied? No, I doubt it. But I feel he has caught me like a parent would their child. “I feel a little sad, that’s all,” I explain. “I didn’t think I’d leave Bag End after the wedding.”

“And the idea saddens you.” Thorin summarizes.

I nod.

He studies me a moment before leading me down the stairs.

“You aren’t losing the home you have in Bag End,” Thorin assure me. “I have the feeling your mother would have a fit if we didn’t stop by often. Besides, you wouldn’t lose the house simply because you married a Dwarf living by the Baranduin. Bilbo, I would never take your home from you. I know Bag End is your home. But I hope that this house, when completed, can also be your home.”

I look behind at the three walled platform. I’ve nothing to say on what I expect from it as a home. It must not seem like it because it’s incomplete. I don’t know for sure what to think of it.

At least for now.

Besides, what really makes a home?

#

We sit by the Party Tree. Thorin’s back is to me and I lean against the tree trunk, combing my fingers through Thorin’s locks, smoothing out tangles before sectioning a lock into three. I twined the locks together, weaving an ebony braid.

“This normally would have come when our engagement was settled,” Thorin said. “However, I wanted it from you willingly and I wasn’t sure asking you so early would have been suitable.”

“That’s quite all right. I probably would have refused, not knowing what braids mean in your culture.”

“And do braids signify anything in yours?”

“No. They’re just a hairstyle girls like.” I pinched the smaller threads of hair together with my fingers. “Could you hand me the clasp, Thorin?”

Thorin obliged, giving him the bead. I bit my tongue, trying to string the hair through the bead.

“All right?”

“It’s a bit tricky,” I admit. “Give me a—there we go.” Once the bead was on, sliding it to fit snuggly around Thorin’s hair was easy. I let it fall, admiring the silver clasp shining against Thorin’s hair.

“You know,” Thorin said, turning to face me, “You should grow your hair out a little. Just long enough for me to braid your hair.”

“I’m afraid Hobbit hair is too fine,” I say. But you are welcome to try. If I can get away from my mother long enough to let it grow so you can.”

“You could just tell her,” Thorin suggests.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, smirking.

Thorin grabs my wrist with gentle fingers, tugging me into his lap. He kisses me and I kiss him back, tightening my fingers on the fabric of his coat.

“I love you,” I whisper.

It’s barely audible and I’m not sure Thorin heard me, but I had been thinking about it for a while. I’m actually surprised at myself for saying it aloud as I did. Five, nearly six months ago, I never would have believed it if I was to be told I’d really fall in love with this Dwarf.

You know, it’s odd. I know he’s a King, but I’ve never thought of him as one. I have a hard time seeing him in that position, though I have seen him act it out. He plays the part well, but the moment it’s just the two of us, he’s awkward and sweet if not a little possessive once in while.

I’m okay with that. I get a little possessive of him myself once in a while.

I’m surprised at myself when I think I want him to know. I’ve not told him yet, though he’s told me countless times.

So I pull away.

“What is it?” he asks, thinking something wrong.

“Nothing,” I assure him, kissing his nose. “I love you, Thorin.”

Thorin freezes. I wonder if I was too presumptuous. I half expect him to do something to push me away and run for the Brandywine’s shore. The other half hope’s he’s just happy and registering that, “yes, it’s not a dream.”

I’m quite glad to think it’s the latter when he crashes his lips back to mine with slightly more force than before. It’s almost too forced. His hand cups the back of my neck, keeping me in place.

He’s usually quite careful. His beard tickles more than scratches and his lips are gentle in their coaxing.

Not this kiss. His beard scratches my face, even burns. He bites my lips harshly and I gasp at the stinging pain. His tongue wedges past my teeth, almost choking me inside my mouth. Thorin’s other hand cups my butt and I find I’m groaning into his mouth.

I slide closer, surprised at my own eagerness at what I want to do. Oh, I know what is happening. I’ve thought about it, time and time again.

Of course it’s not _allowed_ by either of our peoples. Chastity before marriage is quite common in both Dwarfish and Hobbitish cultures. Not everyone adheres to it (I know I haven’t), but from what I know of Dwarves…they’re stricter about it.*

So, even though we clearly don’t want to stop, Thorin still pushes me away.

“Sorry—”

“No. I know—”

“Mahal! I want you, but—”

“So do I—”

“We can’t—”

“Course not. Not till later—”

Thorin pulls me into another soul-binding kiss. My hands caress his jaw, snaking into his hair.

I feel warmer than I probably should, but I can’t bring myself to care! I want him in me—or for me to be in him. I’m not really picky about it, so long as I can feel him and be joined to him, body and soul.

I didn’t think much on the whole one year thing until I realized how far next Thrimidge really is.

It’s not fair, damn it!

_I love you. I love you. I want you in any way I can have you. I love you._

Thorin pulls away again. Knowing if we don’t stop, it could get really ugly, I jump off him.

“I think I should go home,” I say, tugging on my shirt.

“That might be for the best.”

It’s hard to keep the disappointment out of both of our voices. Neither of us wants to separate right now, and yet if we don’t, we might get in quite a bit of trouble with our families. Thorin might lose the respect of his people.

So I go home and I dream of my Dwarf King, pleased to know he’s dreaming of me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I’m going with the whole Dwarrow=Jew thing, and I have a head-cannon that Hobbits=Catholic-Christians. So…yeah, a bit of what I know from Jewish Culture and Catholic Culture is going to show up here. Meaning: Dwarves practice circumcision, adhere to a bunch of purity laws, worship one god (Mahal), and so on. As for Hobbits (from the large family trees, my knowledge from my Catholic relatives, and that Tolkien himself was Catholic) they are more likely to save themselves for marriage regardless of orientation, also adhere to similar purity laws, worship one god (Yavanna), and are somewhat prudish (b/c most Christians really are…we can’t seem to help it, it’s mentally ingrained in some of us I'm afraid…)
> 
> I cannot guarantee that any of the above is 100% true. I am a protestant Christian, and we do follow some of the same laws, but not as many as Catholics and/or Jews. I sincerely apologize if I have, in any way, insulted anyone's faith. It is not my intent in the slightest.


	7. Halimath

I stare at the pile of knick-knacks I mean to give out to the guests who will come to celebrate my thirty-fourth birthday.

I’d rather do away with the event all together, but my mother would box my ears if I tried.

Thankfully I have two future nephews willing to help me with the carving.

Normally the gifts did not need be handmade, but with the dwarves who will also be in attendance, having hand crafted gifts by you made yourself was expected.

Well, I couldn’t do the carving alone, but the designs for most of them were easy enough to do on my own.

Fili sets aside the eighth book end to add to the collection. Each were different: Lions, eagles, and various other creatures stood on the table.

Mom entered the living room and paused, looking about.

“It’d be easier to buy these things, Bilbo.”

“But that’d be insulting!” Kili exclaimed.

“What he said,” I say finishing a bracelet. “Dwarves prefer handmade gifts. Sadly, I’ve not the ability to have it be one hundred percent my work.”

“Well, it’s still your design,” Fili reminded me, stretching.

“That’s true I suppose,” I say, stringing more wooden beads onto a string to make a necklace.

Kili stretches himself out on the floor, yawning.

Mom laughs.

“I’ll make something to wake you boys up again for lunch. Do you know if Thorin will be joining us?”

“He won’t be,” I say, “he went to meet his sister and some cousins in Ered Luin. They’ll be here the day before the party.”

“Oh good!”

“Not good,” I reiterate. Fili and Kili nodded.

“I heard enough horror stories from these two about their mother! I can’t imagine what the others will like!”

Mom glared at Fili and Kili, who squeaked and hid behind me.

“I’m sure Princess Dis is a very kind lady.”

“Says you!” Kili shouted. “You don’t even know her!”

“She’s evil!”

“Cruel!”

“A witch!”

Mom laughed.

“Well what else is a mother to be when she’s got two boys as rowdy as you? Give me a moment to get what I need and I’ll call you when lunch is ready. Beef stew should be easy enough. Spices will wake you up soon enough.”

She left the room and I exchanged a look with the lads.

“No,” I say, “I’m really not looking forward to meeting your mother. Hand me that block, Fili, I need to whittle more beads for this necklace.”

#

I don’t know if I made enough gifts. Looking around, I’m worried about that.

Hobbits would think it a grave insult, but what am I to do? I should have decided to _buy_ the Hobbits in attendance something while making something handmade for the Dwarves.

Fireworks light the sky from where Gandalf set them off. I sit at the table, trying to look happy though I’d rather disappear. I don’t like the attention I’m getting.

I feel giant arms wrap around me.

“Feeling well?” Thorin asks.

“I’m not a big fan of birthday parties,” I say.

“Good. Neither am I.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve already hit triple digits,” I mutter, leaning into his expansive chest.

“Don’t say that to my sister. She’d throttle you.”

I nod. “I know. Your nephews had fun telling me enough horror stories about Dis. I’m thoroughly warned and properly frightened.”

“Dis isn’t _that_ bad, despite what Fili and Kili will say. Put an Orc in their path and Dis will overkill it.”

“Sounds like my mother. I think they’ll get along.”

“They will. Which, to be honest, Bilbo, scares me.”

I smirk. “I was unaware that the mighty and majestic Thorin Oakenshield the son of Thrain the son of Thror was scared of anything.”

“You tease now, but just wait,” Thorin kissed my cheek. “Dis is—”

“I’m what?”

Thorin’s smile vanishes and we turn to look at the Dwarrowdam. Her eyes narrowed at us and her arms were crossed over her chest. She tapped a foot.

“Well?”

“The sweetest little sister ever and _not_ a bitch.”

I shake my head and smile at her. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m B—”

“Bilbo! Run!” Fili shouted, grabbing the woman’s right arm. Kili seized the left. “While you still can! We’ll hold her back!”

Thorin snorted.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Dis said with a sigh, untangling herself from her boys. “Whatever these three fools told you, I suggest you ignore them. They love over-exaggerating.”

“I doubt it’s an over-exaggeration when you find yourself tied to a chair by your siblings and forced to endure a shave,” Thorin said, shivering. “I still have nightmares.”

“Why? You asked for it for ruining my dress.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, about to explain that it was an accident, but Dis was already being asked to dance by a Hobbit.

“You really did over-exaggerate.”

“No, we didn’t,” Fili said, sitting down, he rested his head on the table. “She can be pretty nasty when she needs to be.”

Thorin shrugged.

“Shaving?”

“My brother and Dis decided it’d be a funny prank. They were still rather young and I had been neglecting them. To be fair, I had recently turned fifty. Think…tweenagers and a ten year old.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“I was tied down and forced to have my beard shaved. It took _way_ too long to grow as it is and I wasn’t very happy. I locked myself in my room for days while waiting for my beard to grow back.”

“Huh.”

“That’s it?”

“Cultural differences are interesting. It’s not that unsavory to have one’s hair cut in the Shire. But it seems it’s…”

“A horrid punishment,” Kili said.

“Usually reserved for criminals,” Fili finished.

“So for the Prince to get his beard shorn by his siblings as a prank…” Kili trailed off.

“You must have really peeved them off,” I concluded.

Thorin shrugged. “It was just a dress. It could be fixed. But Dis was not going to hear it. And the week before I had broken something of Frerin’s. Can’t remember what, for my life.”

“So you deserved it.”

“They thought so.”

Fili and Kili went to ask a pair of sisters to dance with them. The lasses giggled, accepting.

I stroke Thorin’s beard. “Yeah. I think I prefer you with a beard rather than without,” I decided.

“Good.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I’m not going to shave it for your preferences.”

“ _SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!”_

“No! Not this again!” I groan.

“What?”

“Just watch.”

My father stands on a platform and begins a longwinded monologue about my life as it has come to pass and now with my engagement to Thorin for the sake of the Dwarrow-Hobbit Alliance.

Is that what they’re calling it? I guess there are worse names and titles in the world.

Many eyes are on me and Thorin during my father’s speech. Most of the Shire already know us and have become used to our relationship. Those who did not glare at us with disapproval.

Stick in the mud busybodies.

They can go crawl in holes and die for all I care.

But at least the party is almost over and all that’s left is to hand out gifts and bid everyone a goodnight.

Too bad I haven’t escaped having tea with Dis, who decided to invite my mother along as well.

Well, poop.


	8. Winterfilth

“So what are these?” Fili asked, holding a mask up. He stuck his fingers through the eye holes. “Weird finger puppets?”

My mother laughed. “They’re masks,” she explained, she wrote down another measurement for Kili. “Arms out like so, Kili dear,” she said, spreading them out. Kili mimicked her. “Every year at the end of the month, we have a small party.”

I glue a red leaf to my mask. “All Hallows Eve is a harvest festival to celebrate life and death,” I add. “We honor Mandos in this celebration when the veil between worlds is thinnest. We dress up in costumes and wear masks to hide from less than friendly spirits who may come. Do Dwarves not celebrate All Hallows Eve?”

“No,” Thorin replied, placing a mask resembling an owl over his face. “Honoring the Dead is done at funerals and nothing more. We worship a living god and no one else.”

“Well, it’s mostly just for fun,” Bilbo assures him. “Bobbing for apples, dancing, pumpkin pies and caramel…It’s not really worship. The origin of the festival starts with some tale about Mandos.”

“Sounds more like something that gives a toothache,” Fili said.

“Only if your mother doesn’t push you to brush your teeth,” Mom replied.

“Costumes are worn too,” I say as an afterthought. “Sometimes very simple costumes, other times very detailed and eccentric.”

“That’ll do, Kili. Thank you.” Kili stepped down. “Bilbo, you’re next.”

“I wasn’t actually going to go.”

“Why ever not?” Mom asked, hands on her hips.

“Neither am I,” Thorin admitted.

“Now listen here,” Mom growled, Thorin and I turn to her. “You’re going. After you’re married you can skip as many festivals and celebrations as you like. But until then, you will suffer through each one you are invited to—especially when Old Took expects you to go! Do I make myself clear?”

Thorin and I murmur our understanding. I let her take my measurements. I’m pretty sure I haven’t lost or gained weight since the last one, but Mom jots down my measurements and then calls Thorin.

He protests at first, but Fili, Kili, and I push him toward my mother.

“Stop slumping, Thorin! Goodness, if I didn’t know better, I’d call you a grumpy, ill behaved child rather than a king.”

The brothers and I laugh. Thorin shoots us glares as he straightens for my mother’s work. Once she finishes, Thorin steps down and Mom goes to answer the door _before_ it rang.

“Oh! Mrs. Baggins,” Balin’s voice comes from the hallway, “How do you do?”

“Quite well, Mr. Balin, please come in. You as well, Mr. Dwalin.”

I turn to Thorin. “I still don’t trust them with my mother. Dwalin especially.”

Thorin snorted.

Fili and Kili gave me confused glances.

Dwalin and Balin entered the room, following my mother. Dwalin smirked. “Enjoying arts and crafts time, Thorin?”

“Shove off, Dwalin.”

“I’d love to, but that’d be quite rude to the hostess.”

“Tea will be ready in a mo’,” she said, “If you’d like to join the others in the living room.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Balin said, sitting down. Dwalin slumped on the couch next to him.

When her back is turned, I glare at Dwalin. He smirks. “What? I’m not doing anything illegal.”

“Says you!”

Balin shook his head. “I’m surrounded by children. Bilbo, Dwalin and I are not planning to do anything to your mother. She’s perfectly safe from us.”

“I still don’t trust either of you.”

“Bilbo,” Fili said, holding his mask. “Is it supposed to break in two?”

Bilbo slumped. “Fili, they aren’t made of stone! You need to be more careful with them.”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, we have extras,” Bilbo said, handing him a spare. “Be more careful. All right?”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo.”

“Will there be dancing at the All Hallows Eve party?” Kili asked, putting his mask on and tilting his head to the side.

“What party doesn’t?”

“Wonderful! I was hoping Izzy Bracegirdle could dance with me for once.”

“I’m sure she would be honored to dance with you, Kili,” Balin said. “Izzy Bracegirdle’s the blonde lass you keep trying to impress?”

“Indeed she is,” Kili beamed.

Mom returned, setting a tea tray on the counter laden with a pot, seven cups, and plenty of biscuits to go around.

She was too busy entertaining Balin and Dwalin to notice Thorin pull me into the hall.

He kissed me.

“What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason to kiss my fiancé?”

“No. It’s just sudden.” I look around. Convinced everyone is still in the parlor, I return the kiss. “I love you, Thorin.”

“As do I, âzyung.”

“Bilbo! Thorin! Stop being lovey-dovey and have tea!” Mom shouts.

“ _Mom_!”

#

“They are hoping to start the carnage early this year,” a Ranger reported to Old Took.

Thorin stood in the shadows, managing to keep unseen. Were he not a king, I would have thought he’d be one of the Rangers.

I stand behind my grandfather to his left with my uncle on his right.

“They will be here by All Hollow’s Eve. You need to rally the watch.”

“Thank you, but we already are way ahead in our defense this year.”

The Ranger tilts his head to the side. “You mean your Alliance with the Erebor Refugees?”

“Do you not trust my judgment?”

“I do, Lord-Thain. I do not doubt their valor, but their pride. I worry for your grandson. The descendants of Durin have more than once proven to be possessive of what they consider theirs to a fault. I fear in this alliance, you had stolen his freedom.”

My blood boiled.

If Thorin is possessive, he has held himself in check quite well! Who is this Ranger to judge my fiancé?!

I open my mouth to retaliate, but Thorin steps out of the shadows and places a hand on my shoulder. I silence, scowling at the Ranger.

“You’re concern is commendable, Sir,” he began, “And you speak only truth, for which I will not hold against you. However, though my line is cursed in ways others have not been, you have no right to judge me or my people as such.

“I admit I had my doubts about this land at first, and still they opened their doors to us in hospitality. My people need a home and we have struggled to find one for far too long. If aiding them through the winter months is what will give my people a home then I will defend the Shire with my lifeblood.”

He squeezed my shoulder, reassuringly.

“Besides,” he continued. “I highly doubt anyone can really _say_ they own a Hobbit, spirited as they are for all their peace.”

The Ranger studied us.

“Orcs and Goblins have a love of raiding this land in the winter. They come by the hundreds marching into the Shire, thieving, murdering people in their homes, kidnapping them to feed their Wargs.”

“Clearly the Rangers have not been a sufficient defense then,” Thorin stated.

I force down the smile. I used to have such respect for the Rangers, but _no one_ insults Thorin in front of me without dire consequence.

“Perhaps we could work together to form a better defense for the Shire.”

The Ranger smirks, hiding his slighted pride.

“Perhaps, your majesty,” he agrees. He bows, stepping out of the room. Thorin and I bid goodbye to my grandfather an uncle. Once out of their hearing range, Thorin scowled.

“I’ll never understand Rangers,” Thorin growled, crossing his arms.

“They’re an odd bunch, true,” I say. “Thank you for stopping me earlier. I was too close to choking him when he said those things about you.”

“Even though it is true?”

“You haven’t acted possessive of me once since we started courting.”

“You made it quite clear it would be pointless to try the day we met. Why fight a losing battle?”

He wrapped his arm around my middle, pulling me closer to him.

“Though I won’t promise I won’t get jealous, âzyung.”

“Jealous of whom?” I ask, smirking. “Have I given you a reason to ever be jealous?”

“You do give Dwalin a little more attention than I’d like.”

“Solely to make sure he keeps his knuckle bustered hands off my mother. I assure you I don’t think of kissing anyone else.”

Thorin kisses my cheek, nuzzling my neck. “I find that very reassuring indeed as I don’t think of kissing anyone else either.”

I blush, trying to squirm out of his grasp. “Erm…Thorin, you’re squishing me.”

He sets me down, “Apologies.” He doesn’t look apologetic.


	9. All Hallow's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update! I meant to have this chapter up two weeks ago before I left for Wyoming on a mission trip. But here it is and I’ll try to get in the next chapter so that we’re back on track! Sorry for the delay! Reviews are lovely, but not necessary. :D

The party begins at noon with a luncheon feast. Masks hang around our necks or lay on the table so that they do not get dirty with food. Already there is singing. A Took and a Brandybuck have gotten it in their heads to dance on the table despite their mother’s screeches.

A couple of Dwarves join in, kicking empty dishes and locking arms, dancing in circles. Mother sighs, sending Dad a glance. Poor Dad has already asked for a second tankard of ale. Old Took is laughing and clapping his hands.

I think he’d join them on the table if he could.

After lunch, a band of both Hobbits and Dwarves struck a tune, and the field is filled with masked dancers, both Dwarf and Hobbit, locking arms and pounding their feet on the grass, trampling it under their feet.

I content myself to watch, drinking a little more ale. Kili leads a giggling blond, who I guess is Izzy, in circles, both of them laughing. A Dwarf sits beside me.

“A fine afternoon, is it not, Master Baggins.”

I turn to him and grin at Thorin. “Indeed, Master Oakenshield, however, I’d rather spare them my abhorrent dancing skills and sit quietly here. Thank you very much.”

“What a pity,” he said.

“Oh, no! Don’t you dare say you changed your mind about _dancing_?!”

“And if I have?”

I would _guess_ that you are not my fiancé,” I said, “But actually my soon to be sister-in-law.”

“Now _that_ is a cruel accusation,” Thorin laughed, standing and taking the mug out of my hand. “I would have at least _one_ dance with my beloved Hobbit. If I may?”

I sigh, staring at the outstretched hand.

“You may,” I reply, placing my hand in his.

Thorin grinned and pulled me to my feet. We joined the dancers, spinning in circles to the fast beat of drums and trill of flutes.

“Why the change?” I ask. “I thought you didn’t like dancing.”

“I don’t,” Thorin said, pulling me closer to him, his wolf mask’s nose almost touch my own, hidden by a mask made of dried orange and yellow leaves. “But if I _have_ to listen to your aunts go _on and on_ about what’s considered ‘respectable’ and what’s not—”

I threw my head back and laughed. “You should have told me,” I said. “I’d have saved you _without_ having to resort to stepping all over each other’s toes!”

“And how would you have?” Thorin asked.

I pull him away from the dance floor and I lead him behind the trees, standing on the tip of my toes so to kiss him. “Better?” I ask, grinning at him.

Thorin lays his hands on my hips, leaning down to catch my lips again. I smile against his mouth. His hands are hot against my hips and they burn. It’s a comfortable burn, though…like being curled next to the hearth after a long walk through snow.

“ _Men lananubukhs menu_ ,” he whispered.

“Erm…that’s ‘I love you,’ right?” I ask. Thorin nods straightening. He frowns at me and my hands slide from his neck to his chest and I set the back of my feet on the ground.

“You’re picking up on Khuzdul?”

“Er…well…I’ve always had an ear for languages, so…yeah. It might not be a bad idea to let Hobbits who are interested in learning either since, well, we aren’t the _only_ Hobbit-Dwarf couple by now…”

Thorin nods. “My people can’t teach our language to yours, Bilbo, but…if I will not stop them from teaching their children…nor their spouses if they are interested. Our language is rarely taught to anyone. It is a secret we guard well. For many reasons…though the occasional dwarf-friend will learn…”

“I understand, but you aren’t breaking any laws if I _pick up_ on it in my own time. Besides, are not Hobbits now dwarf-friends?”

Thorin grinned. “Indeed they are. Again, Khuzdul will most likely be taught to children anyway, and I won’t be able to stop _every_ Dwarrow who decides to teach his or her spouse our language. The only thing I can see to fear is the wrath of the other clans.”

“They can put their feet in their mouths for all I care,” I say. Thorin laughs and lifts me into his arms, kissing me again.

“ _Bilbo!!!_ ”

“Blast,” I hiss against his lips, pulling away. “We can make a run for the woods if you’re up to it.”

“ _Bilbo Baggins!! Thorin Oakenshield!! If you lads don’t get your butts **back to the party tree** I swear on **Yavana’s green thumb** I’ll tan **both** your hides!!!_ ”

I blush, groaning, and hide my face in Thorin’s shoulder.

“It may be for the best, _ûrzudel_ ,” Thorin says, putting me down, “To go back.”

“You’re just scared of my mother.”

“She is rather formidable,” He admitted, kissing my hand. Reluctantly, I let him lead me back. Mom meets us, scowling beneath her cat mask, hands on her hips, and tapping her foot against the ground.

“You missed it,” she said.

“Missed what?”

“The SB’s announced Otho’s engagement to Lobelia Bracegirdle.”

I wince. “That is horrible!” I shout, pressing my hands against my cheeks in mock horror. “Poor Otho! Should I go give him my condolences?”

“ _Bilbo_ ,” Mom hisses.

“He’d think it’s funny,” I say. Otho would. Other than having a shrew for a mother, now about to have a shrew for a wife…that poor, poor Hobbit! He’s usually easy to get along with. Between Camillia and Lobelia each, he’ll lose his soul now.

“I’ll go ‘congratulate’ him,” I tell her. “Though we _both_ know that ‘condolences’ is closer to what he’ll be wanting.” I dodge her hand, sprinting away. I feel sorry leaving Thorin to her mercy, but it was every Hobbit/Dwarf for himself at that point.

I find Otho, who is staring at his tankard. I pat his back. “I heard.”

“Save me…”

“I wish I could. You could always run away to Bree…”

“I could,” Otho agreed, taking another drink. “For now, I’m just going to get drunk and then I’ll come up with an escape route…”

“Let me know if you need help.”

“I will—”

A howl echoed above the music, which stopped and we listened. Another howl cut through the silence, sending chills down our spines. When the ranger said that the Orcs intended to start the carnage early, they didn’t say _how_ early…

The food is packed away and the children are ushered back to their homes with their mothers. Thorin is shouting above the crowd in rough, guttural Khuzdul, assembling the Dwarves to arms. Otho and I stand, intending to join the others who wish to fight, but Dad grabs the back of my neck.

“Bilbo,” he says, “Go home with your mother.”

“But Dad—”

He seizes my collar. “You need to live, Bilbo. If I die, you will be the head of the Baggins clan and your survival is tantamount to the Alliance. I will _not_ have you sacrifice your life in some reckless desire to fight when you aren’t a professional!”

“And what’ll happen to Mum if you die?” I counter. My teeth gnash together. Dad pushes me back without answering and disappears into the crowd. I grit my teeth and find Mom, pulling her back toward Bag End.

“Bungo? Bilbo, where’s your father?”

“Decided to fight,” I say, trying to sound confident. But I’m not. I’m terrified and I feel useless going home. I try to reason with my guilt: _I’m not useless. I’m protecting my mother for Dad when he gets home. He will come home…he will…_

And then there’s Thorin. He’s fighting too and that…Yavanna! That doesn’t sit well with me any more than Dad going out to fight. Is _this_ what I’m destined to do for the rest of my life? Tuck tail and run when the Shire is in danger? Let my _husband_ —we might not be married yet, but he is my husband nevertheless—fight in battles alone?

Okay, so he’s not alone. I trust Dwalin with Thorin even if I don’t like that he flirts with my mother, but _still_! I can’t…I don’t…

Mom squeezes my shoulder. “Everything will be all right, Sweetheart,” she says, pushing me through the gates and into the door. She turns around. “Fili! Kili! Get in here _now!_ ” The run in, masks askew and pale, and she closes the door behind them. “Boys,” she says to them, leading us into the kitchen and opening the cellar door, “I want you both to go into the cellar and stay there.”

“But Mrs. Baggins—” Fili begins.

“We can fight!” Kili says. Mom sends them a dark look.

“Are either of you adults? Because last I looked, you both seem to be tweens in my book! I won’t ask again and I won’t be argued with! I want you both in the cellar in five minutes, or _so help me_ …” They pouted, but obeyed, heading down into the dark cellar. Mom closes and bolts it shut, and then goes to her glory box, opening it. She pulls out a crossbow and I’m…well, shocked might be putting it mildly.

She smirks at me. “Well, what do you expect? I didn’t go traveling on my own without _something_ for protection. I’ve a few arrows and I’ll show you how to make them later.”

“Does Dad know about that?”

“Of course he does. He also knows that I know how to use it. And so will you after tonight. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, after all.” She presses the weapon in my hands. “I wish there was more time to teach you how to use it _properly_.” She lay the bow point down and pulled the string up toward her, cocking the bow and placing a small arrow into the groove.

It’s a practical size for Hobbits, but once in my hands, it’s heavy and I feel leaden.

“Mom?’

“You’ll do fine, Bilbo,” she said, “All I can really tell you right now is not to let the weapon scare you, but allow it to become a part of you. _When_ we get through the night, I will teach you how to use it more efficiently. For now, I want you stationed in the library by the window. You can see more from there.”

I enter the library, trying to calm my body enough to stop shaking so much and press against the wall by the window, glancing out every now and then.

There is fire by the tree. I hear the screams of the dying from all: Hobbits and Dwarves, Orcs and Wolves.

Mom is busy bolting the doors and windows, checking on me every so often. It is eerily quiet along Bagshot Row. No orcs or wolves or wargs arrive on our doorstep. She pats my shoulder.

“Deep breaths, Bilbo,” she reminds me. “You’re doing just fine, sweetheart.”

I don’t feel anywhere close to fine, hugging the bow close. She pulls it away from my chest. “Careful, Bilbo. You don’t want to set it off accidently.” She pats my cheek, eyes shifting to the window. She gasps and heads to the door. I look out the window.

Dad, Thorin, and another Dwarf that may be Dis are home. I carefully set the bow down and join Mom outside. She’s clutching onto Dad, weeping.

“Where are my sons?” Dis demands.

“The Cellar,” I say. “It’s a trapdoor in the kitchen, under the rug.” She runs in past me and I turn to Thorin. “Are you…is everyone okay?”

He sighed. “Casualties are a part of battles. But we won and the dead will be honored in the morning,” he promised. “How about you?”

“We’re okay,” I say, still shaking. “We’re all okay.”


	10. Blotmath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter ended up being a bit heavy. Here's something more lightweight. :D

“You should see it!” Drogo said, tugging my hand. “They’re building a wall! Mr. Fari says it’ll get bigger and will have gates and posts and—”

“But it’s not quite like that yet, is it?” I ask, ruffling my little cousin’s head. He shakes his head.

“But soon, right?” he asked. “They’re working really hard so that there won’t be any more battles.”

The wind picks up, ripping brown, yellow, and red leaves from their branches, laying them at our feet and stripping the trees barren of their colorful array, leaving them black and brown.

“It will depend on how fast they can work,” I tell him. “And I know for a fact that they are working as fast as they can, Drogo, but realistically, they might not be able to get the whole thing up before winter really sets in. That doesn’t mean they won’t try, though.”

He nods, chewing his bottom lip.

We arrive at the building point, a solid two layers of stone bricks already set up and a third being built. Thorin is talking to the foreman, bent over blueprints.

Patrolling on the other side of the bridge is an army of Dwarrows and there are Hobbit sentries in the trees with bows and quivers of arrows to their backs.

Drogo ran over to the foreman, who I suppose is “Mr. Fari.” Thorin turns away from them to look at me and smiles. I close the distance between us.

“I didn’t think I’d see you before dinner,” he said, pecking my lips.

“Drogo insisted on seeing the progress,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d start so soon.”

“We’ve actually sped up. We have four teams working eight hour shifts from dawn to dusk. Two teams of soldiers, one for the day and one for night, protect it on the other side of the Baraduin.”

“Have there been more wolves?”

“More _Orcs_ ,” he clarifies. “We can handle wolves. Orcs, on the other hand, are far more intelligent than I would like them to be.”

I frown. It’s been ten days since All Hallows Eve.

Mom has been teaching me how to use her crossbow when we had time in the woods. I’m getting better having it around, but I’m still clumsy with it. She also has me making my own bolts (which are small arrows and perfectly Hobbit-sized).

“Have any…”

“No,” Thorin said. “The sentries are sharp-eyed and their aim has gotten much better. And what they miss come toward Dwalin and his men. We’ve not had many casualties on our end since _Amrad Ghiluz_.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.

The funerals the next day had been rough.

There had been so many that the Dwarves suggested cremating the dead. Several were far from happy with this, but Old Took overruled their complaints and there were more workers building a monument to honor them, a plaque was being forged with the names of the dead and it would be placed on the other end of the party hill.

The battle has yet to be named, but it will have one.

Once Balin and my grandfather decide on a proper name for it.

Thorin places a hand on my shoulder, bringing me out of my melancholy. “Bilbo?”

“I’m fine,” I say, “It all…I wasn’t even a part of it and I feel I…” He squeezes my shoulder.

“You did nothing wrong in not joining the battle, _ûrzudel_ ,” he said. “You protected my nephews and your mother.”

I open my mouth to retaliate. I didn’t protect anyone. My mother, however, was the one to take action—Thorin cups my cheek and my tongue falls dumb.

“You did the best you could. Besides, you did better than some of my best soldiers did on their first time. For instance,” he smirked, turning toward the others. “Dwalin froze at his first battle,” he shouted.

Dwalin froze and turned to Thorin, snarling. “I bloody well did _not_ , you yellow-bellied Orc-licker!” This resulted in a few laughs and far more than few winces. Thorin just snorted and let Dwalin ramble about honor and Dwarfliness and other things that go way over my head.

#

“Can I try?” Kili asked when I lowered the bow. His eyes shine with admiration and curiosity. I glance at Mom, who takes the bow from me and shows Kili how to cock it and load a bolt. She shows him how to aim it.

And when he pulls the trigger, he falls back and the bolt flies off mark, hitting a crow instead. Mom pats his head, assuring him it could’ve been worse and that crows are generally considered pets anyway.

“But we will definitely be working on your aim,” she told him, taking the bow from him. “Start with some pebbles and try to hit the mark. Breathing deep and slow will aid you in concentrating in hitting your mark. Go on, now.”

Kili picked up a few pebbles and began throwing them at the tree. Mom knelt before me, taking my hands in hers. She inspects the new calluses along my fingers.

“How are you, Bilbo?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Thorin and I are good.”

She hums. “You seem distracted. That’s why I ask.”

I shrug. “I’m getting married to a king. It took a bit of getting used to, but I can do it. I’m not marrying his title anyway. I’m marrying _him_.”

“But for whom?”

“Before? Well, before it was for the Shire, now…” I shrug again. “For myself, I guess. I love him, Mum, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She hummed, joining me on the grass. It feels like how we used to be, just enjoying the sun while we could back when I was a child.

“You used to wander these woods until long after dark,” she said, “searching for Elves. Your father fretted awfully about it. So did I, but unlike your father I knew I had to let you do your own thing. You were always more Took than Baggins and you were _never_ going to do what you didn’t want to. So I was worried that you wouldn’t be happy marrying Thorin. I’m glad to see that my fears were for nothing.”

Kili groaned his frustration throwing the rest of his pebbles at the tree and falling to the ground to pound out his fury.

“You won’t be able to master any sort of long range weapon if you give up!” Mom shouts at him. “I’ll have an archer of you in no time if you put some effort into it, Kili!”

“ _But Auntie Bella…_ ”

“Get up and pick up the pebbles,” she snaps. I try not to laugh at him as he does as she says muttering about how Hobbits must have unnatural eyesight and aim.

A cold drop touches my cheek and I look up.

“Mum,” I say. “It’s snowing.” Mom and Kili look up and her lips thin.

“We’ll call it a day, then,” she says. “And I’ll put some hot cocoa on.” Kili whooped letting the rocks fall from his hand.

“I’ll meet you there,” I say. “I need to get Thorin.”

“Can’t I come?”

“And miss out on the first batch of cocoa?!” Mom asks him, hands on her hips. “Warm, but not too hot, with just the right amount of cream? What would your father say if he knew?”

“That I’m a terrible example of a Dwarf for giving that up?” he asked.

Mom laughs at him and I run toward the wall. Snow falls heavier with each step I take. Surely, Thorin knows it’s time to call it a day, right? I can only hope we’ll meet up before I reach the wall.

He’s still there, talking to Dwalin and the others.

“…manned,” he said. “And the wall guarded. The Orcs _will_ try to break it down if unguarded. Dress warmly. We cannot risk them knowing we are here.”

“Aye,” Dwalin said. “We’ll do that.” He glances at me and pats Thorin’s shoulder. “Now go home before Bilbo orders me to drag you there.”

Thorin turns to me, then back to Dwalin. “ _Atkât_ ,” he snapped, approaching me. “Hello, _Ûrzudel,_ ” he greeted, kissing my cheek. “Everything all right?”

“Well, there’s one dead crow courtesy of Kili,” I say. “But otherwise, yes.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain on the way home,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “Mum’s putting some cocoa on for us.”

“I’ve still work to do…”

“And it’s not going anywhere. The days are going to become shorter, Thorin, so I want you home sooner,” I say. He rolls his eyes. _Oh, okay, if you want to be stubborn…_ I tilt my head, pouting and stare up at him. “Please?”

Thorin tries to look away, but the alternative is to glower at snickering Dwarves and Hobbits. “Oi, Bilbo, will there be biscuits?” Dwalin asks.

I turn to him, glaring. “Keep your hands off my mother and her pastries!”

The snickers grow into loud laughter.

“Well, ya can’t blame him, Bilbo,” one of the Hobbits call down from one of the trees. “You’re mother is quite the looker even at her age now!”

Why this is met with so much affirmation, I will _never_ understand. I mean…it’s my _mother_!

Oh, Yavanna above! I don’t need to hear this! I take a rock and throw it in the direction of the Hobbit. “That’s my _mother,_ you son-of-an-orc!” I shout at him as he clings to the branches.

“Just statin’ a fact!” he shouts back.

I cringe. It is a fact I am thankful not _ever_ knowing. I turn to the others and huff. “And if I went around admiring _your_ mothers and their pastries, would you stand for it?”

“Aye.”

“Sure. I’d like it if you thought my mum was attractive.”

“She does get awful lonely.”

“Well, if you can handle her…”

I groan. “Thorin, let’s go.”

“I told you, _Ghivashel_ , I have—”

“If you say ‘work,’ I will have a dog house made just for you,” I threaten.

“ _Menu jezer_ ,” Dwalin said.

“ _Atkât_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Amrad Ghiluz=the Death Day, Day of the Dead, All Hallows Eve, Halloween, or other equivalent  
> Ûrzudel=sun of suns, my sun, my light, etc.  
> Atkât=silence, be quiet, shut up, etc  
> Ghivashel=treasure of treasures, beloved  
> Menu jezer=loosely translated to “you’re whipped.”


	11. Foreyule

Snow fell off and on throughout the first few days and then a blizzard hit overnight and the river froze. Thorin and Old Took were constantly in meetings, discussing how to get through the winter months. Mom had me nailing the windows down and the shutters were kept in.

From what I know, my grandfather and fiancé had agreed that food needed to be rationed. They decreed that many of the meals Hobbits were used to eating were far from necessary and would do us nothing more than run our storehouses dry faster than we need them to. So they cut down to three meals a day, all sparse. Nearly every family in Hobbiton was outraged.

It was bad enough that the Old Took had asked the Dwarves to run inspections to make sure that every family had enough to go for the month. Dwarves are far more used to eating three meals a day than Hobbits—so they were best to judge. All other foods—especially flour—were sent to storehouses. Houses were boarded up and Dwarven locks installed.

Logs for fire would be delivered weekly. The poorer hobbits were sent to the Great Smials in Tuckborough for the sake of warmth. Construction of homes and the wall were abandoned and the Dwarves were housed where they could be. Thorin, Dis, the boys, Balin, and Dwalin took up residence in Bag End.

Night became unbearable. Orcs roamed the Shire and wolves sniffed us out. Sometimes, they managed to break into a home and you could hear the screams of the dead and the clash of weapons…

I wrapped the blanket around me tighter and descended the stairs to the living room. Thorin lay on the couch, sword in hand.

“Thorin?” He jumped, brandishing his weapon. “Calm down, it’s me,” I say.

He lowers his sword. “Are you well?”

“Can’t sleep,” I admit, stepping further inside. “I feel as though I’ll never be able to sleep again. It’s so cold.” Thorin sheathed his sword.

“Come here.” I approach him and he pulls the blanket off me and around his shoulders before pulling me into his arms. He’s so warm, and I’m startled by his heat only to quickly adjust and snuggle closer to him. “It’ll get better,” he promised.

“I know,” I say, “but ‘better’ is still a few months away. Everyone’s hungry, Thorin. And cold.”

He sighed. “I know.” I chance looking up at him. He’s gazing into the dead hearth. “But it could be worse, Bilbo. You’re people may be hungry, but everyone who has cooperated is still alive and safe. And they are managing to live off of what your grandfather and I give them. There is shelter and there is food and warmth. This is the most we can hope for at the moment.”

“You’ve been through this before?”

“More than once since Erebor was lost to Smaug. Yes. It’s always the old and the young first,” he said. “The rest of us…we just have to press on somehow. Then there are the Orcs and Men and…” Thorin sighed. “Trust me, Bilbo, the Shire is the most secure place I have brought my people in years and this I the hardest winter I’ve seen to date. It could be so much worse than it is.”

I lay my head on his chest. “Hobbits must seem like whiny brats to you then.”

“Lately, yes,” Thorin admits, “But only those who have never had to deal with hard winters before. There are those who complain and others will come and thank me for everything I and your grandfather have done this winter: those who have so little to begin with and never would have been able to survive thus far without our aid.”

His nails scratch my back through the fabric of my nightshirt and I relax. Peace I had not felt for a long time washed over me and I feel myself drifting to sleep again.

A scream outside made me tense again. Thorin pulled me closer, arms tight around me. His hands gripped my arms tightly. “Thorin?” I look at his face. He’s turned away from me and his jaw is stiff. He’s mumbling under his breath.

“Nothing I can do,” I heard him whisper. “There’s nothing I can do…Nothing…”

“Thorin, look at me,” I command, cupping his face in mine forcing him to face me. “You’ve done what you can and it is more than enough. You have not done ‘nothing,’ Thorin Oakenshield. It is not your fault if Orcs break into a home.” I tuck a strand of black hair behind his ear. It’s not your fault if people die. Don’t tell yourself there’s nothing you can do because you’ve done everything you _can_ do. Everything else is out of your control. Don’t feel guilty for your own shortcomings. You overestimate yourself, my love. You aren’t Aulë or any other Vala, Thorin. You and I…everyone here…we’re all mortal and we have mortal limitations. You’ve done everything you can and even a little more. I fear what would happen otherwise, my love, if you had not come.”

The screams died, along with the clash of metal against metal. Thorin pressed his lips chastely to mine and I tilted my head up to return it. His grip lessened a little, but was still firm and breathing eased. His hands crumpled my night shirt and a hand snuck low…

I gasped and he snuck his tongue inside my mouth as he lay me on the couch.

 _We should stop,_ the Baggins part of me echoed. _Why?_ the Took part retaliated. _We’re to be married anyway. It’s not like either of us can have children._

And who knows what else this winter will bring us. I have no intention of dying anytime soon. I doubt Thorin feels the same. But nothing seems certain at this moment.

I push him off. “My room,” I tell him, watching the crestfallen look shift to confusion then realization and mirth. “Let’s go there. I don’t want to scare anyone in the morning.”

Thorin nodded, getting off me and pulling me along before I could really fix my shirt.

Once in my room, we undressed dove under the covers, blankets trapped our heat…

#

I could tell it was day because of the slivers of light streaming into the room and of the clatter downstairs as the fire was built up and a meager breakfast made downstairs.

I could also tell that I was not alone in my bed tonight. I opened my eyes to see Thorin still asleep beside me. One arm was beneath me and the other wrapped around my shoulder, hand cradling my head. The blankets we had dove under the night before now only covered us from the waist down.

I shifted and my bottom twinges slightly. I nuzzle closer to him.

“Your nose is cold,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Thorin pulled the covers back over us, rolling me onto my back. “Thorin?” His hands squeezed my hips and he kissed me. My arms wrapped around his neck—

Two knocks.

My door opens.

“Bilbo, have you seen…” Dwalin’s voice died. “Never mind. Dis, I found him.” Thorin shot up, gripping one of the pillows and throwing it at Dwalin’s head. “What? I’m not going to tell your in-laws.”

Thorin’s in-laws…

My parents.

They’re his in-laws. Or will be.

I try to hide in the blankets. I’m not ashamed of last night, but I am embarrassed that we were caught. And by _Dwalin_ no less! This will not bode well. Dwalin will blackmail me. He will taunt me for this for the rest of my life. I just _know_ it.

“Get out,” Thorin growled. “We’ll be down soon. Just go.”

“Fine,” Dwalin snorted. “Was he—okay! Okay! I’m going. Jeez. No need to pull out your sword, Thorin.” I poke my head out from under the covers to see Thorin gripping his blade, one of the blankets wrapped around his waist. He lowers the blade and sighs, sitting back down.

“It could be worse,” I remind him. “My mother could’ve come in.” Thorin shuddered.

“I don’t think I’d be able to survive that.”

“Probably not.”

He glared at me. “You’d not defend me?”

“My mother is quite formidable. I’d defend you as much as I am able, but after that, my best bet to adopt that oldest and noblest of traditions: duck for cover and wait for the whole thing to blow over. Trust me, it would be every Hobbit, or Dwarf, for himself. I doubt you’d be in much danger though. Mum likes you well enough.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Bilbo. That is very comforting indeed.” I snigger, and burry under the covers again. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold. I figured I’d be better to keep warm under here if you won’t. You’re a furnace. That might be problematic during summer, but most welcome during winter.”

“I am _not_ your personal heater,” Thorin grumbled. I snicker and climb out long enough to kiss his nose and dive back under. “Are you trying to test me?” he growled. I laugh again and am startled when two hands grab me around the middle, blanket at all.

“Thorin!” He pulled the blankets off and I’m hit with cold air. “Give those back! Thorin!” He seizes my wrists and pins them above my head. “Okay, you win, now let me go and give the blankets back. It’s freezing!”

“I’m well aware. You were hogging most of them.”

“I reiterate: you’re a furnace.”

“To _you_ , maybe,” he said. I reach for the blankets and he grabs me around the waist, flinging me back onto the bed and straddles my waist—”

“Breakfast is ready!” Mom calls.

_What is with everyone cockblocking us?!_

Thorin climbed off and dressed. I sigh and sit up, deciding to emulate him and get dressed. I finish putting on my pants when his arm wraps around my torso and he kisses my cheek.

“I love you.”

“And I love you,” I reply, leaning against his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “For getting through to me last night. I’ve heard those words countless times, but they never…resonated before. I never believed them before.”

“You shouldn’t trust everything I say,” I say, blushing. “I might do something you’ll really not like and end up lying to save my skin. It’s happened before.”

He squeezed me tighter.

“Maybe with your parents, but never with me. Besides, I have two nephews who try to get away with more than they can chew. I’d catch you in a lie before it even escapes your lips, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Thorin! Bilbo! Get your arses to the table _now_!”

“We better go,” I say.

“Yes. We should.”


	12. Yule

It was interesting to see the Dwarves begin their Yule celebrations ten days before ours. Not many Hobbits were invited to attend the festival. Only those who were being courted by Dwarves came.

The women recited legends and stories of a “ _Tusel_ ” which Mahal participated in to the children.

Some of the men were donning warm clothes and weapons for their annual hunt. Thorin would be leading them.

My family worried about what would happen in the days to come, but there were enough Dwarves left to stay behind and protect us from the wolves and Orcs that may come again in the nights.

I stood beside Dis, who had dressed in warm deer skins and black beads laced through her hair as she recited a prayer of protection and another for success.

Dogs rolled around in the snow, tongues lolling and tails wagging. Some shuddered, but for the most part, the new smells and images seemed to excite the animals.

She raised her hands, shouted in Khuzdul and the dogs were released into the woods. The men followed after and she led me off the stage.

“There will be time later for you to learn how to send them off,” she said as we walked back to Bag End.

“And what exactly is it I’m supposed to be learning?”

Dis patted my back. “You are Thorin’s consort. You’ll be learning more than you think you know now. Our language is not as difficult as Westron and you have an ear for it already. I’m sure you can guess what I said. But your job will have less to do with Thorin’s task in leading _Tusel_ and more to do with lighting the _lukhudîn_ and the _nahubâl_. It’s quite easy and done at night.”

I nod, chewing my lip.

Dis continued to explain how Dwarves celebrated Yule and I looked for similarities.

There weren’t many. They had no tradition that featured the Yule Tree—currently being selected by my grandfather and the decorations prepared.

Some thought we should cancel the festivities all together, but Thorin and the Old Took both insisted that we continue them to show that even in the midst of catastrophe and darkness, we will not be daunted by any hardship Mahal or Yavanna decided to send our way.

I turned back to look at the woods where Thorin took the hunting party.

“He’ll be all right,” Dis assured me. “He has led _Tusel_ many times since we began to wander the wilderness, Bilbo. This is no different.”

“It doesn’t make me worry any less. What if they run into Orcs? Or are killed or—” Dis laughed. I frowned at her. “What is so funny?”

“I do not mock your concern,” she said. “But it would take a lot more than whatever they come across to kill my brother. Thorin is too stubborn to die. He has always been too stubborn for his own good. But it was a good kind of stubbornness. After my husband died, it was what allowed me and my sons to live as we do without trouble. Not that I _needed_ my brother, mind. I can take care of myself well enough, but there are those who can tell a Dwarrowdam from a Dwarrow and would impose their masculine ideals onto an independent woman. Thorin was there to make sure that didn’t happen to me. Now Fili is old enough to take that role and Thorin can focus on making your every desire a reality.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” I say, wincing.

Dis shrugged. “We’re Dwarves. The happiness of our One is pantomime to our existence if we find them. My brother found his One in you. He will do all he can to be the kind of husband you deserve to have.”

I sigh. “Then I best do the same. So I have to light the…what are they again?”

 The _lukhudîn_ and the _nahubâl_ ,” she reminded me, showing me a candelabrum with thirteen candleholders and unlit white candles.

She delves into an explanation of how to light them properly and I furrow my brow.

This is going to be more difficult than I thought it would be.

#

Three days pass before the hunting party returned at night just before it was time to light the third candle of the _lukhudîn_ , led by Thorin who carried a dead stag on his shoulders. It’s quite impressive and if I didn’t know him, I’m quite sure I’d have been intimidated by the figure he posed.

He laid the dead on top of a stone alter by the river and began to pray. Dis, again, led the mass in prayer while I lit the candles silently and with shaking hands. I feared I’d knock something over accidently, but thankfully nothing of the sort happened and I was allowed to return to my place beside Fili and Kili, tugging the shawl further over my face.

The prayers halted at the sound of howling.

Orcs were close.

My legs trembled beneath me and it was shear will power that I did not fall. I spied Dwalin leading a few Dwarrows away from the alter toward the borders.

The prayers continued and I bowed my head, sending one to Yavanna.

_Not this week. Please not this week. Spare us! Please._

#

“So this is where you were hiding.”

I look up to watch Thorin entering the forge. I grip my arm tighter.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be here.”

“The hearth is warm, so I figured why let it go to waste.”

“What is it?” he asked, taking my hand in his. His eyes narrowed at the stain. “Bilbo, this is blood! What—were you attacked? Orcs? A wolf?”

I shook my head violently. “I’m fine.”

“You are _not_ fine,” Thorin snapped. “Tell me the truth. What happened?”

I open and close my mouth, feeling much like a fish. I sigh and stare at my feet.

“No one’s disputed our engagement,” I say at last. “The Dwarven nobility seemed to accept it well enough because you have Fili and Kili, but it seems some of the Dwarves aren’t happy with me and other Hobbits participating in _âkmîn_ , especially with me lighting the _lukhudîn_ and the _nahubâl_.”

“Someone attacked you.”

“Yes—Thorin, it’s just a cut! I’m fine.”

“It is _not_ fine!” he roared.

I stared at him. He never yelled at me like that before.

Thorin sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It is not fine,” he repeated quietly, reaching for me.

He ripped a strip of linen from his undertunicand tied it around my arm.

“You are my One and you will be my husband and will rule them in my absence. I will not tolerate you being attacked. My people will do well to remember that we are not conquerors of your people, but allies. I will not let them forget that. That they attacked you is unforgiveable, _Ûrzudel_.”

Thorin cupped my cheek. I leaned into the touch and let him pull me into his arms, kissing my temple and nuzzling my hair. “ _Men gajamu, men Sanzeuh. Men lananubukhs menu_.”

I closed my eyes and let myself cry, clinging to Thorin. I don’t remember the last time I felt this safe, allowing myself to melt into Thorin’s embrace. I do not know what he is going to do to my attacker and I only hope the punishment will fit the crime.

#

The noble was shaved and his hair cut to his scalp.

To Hobbits, doesn’t seem that horrifying, but none of his kinsmen or anyone else dared to look at him. It was as though he had done something beyond horrifying, such as thievery.

I will never understand the value of hair to Dwarves, but if it works, then it works and I will not question it unless something feels wrong.

But besides that, my wound was superficial and Oin made sure that any infection that could have come did not. Besides, it was _now_ time for the traditions I knew better:

The Yule Tree was brought into the center of the Party Field and everyone was reaching for a spare branch to tie their New Year wishes on. At midnight, the tree would be set on fire are the wishes would travel up to the heavens to be read by Yavanna to be fulfilled.

I finished tying my wish to the tree and rejoined Thorin at the table. “Are you not going to send up a wish?” I ask. “Many of the children are. I think I saw Fili and Kili tying some of their own.”

“Yes. They did. Which is fine. I will not stop them from sending prayer to Mahal’s Wife.”

“So why not send up one of your own?” I ask again. “Why hide with the ale?” I poke his ribs playfully and he grabbed my hands to stop my teasing.

“I don’t have a wish to write down,” he said. “Everything I wanted has already been given to me: a home for my people; security for my family…and I found my One. I do not want or need anything more.”

I blush, staring at my hands still firmly held in his. I don’t think I can answer that adequately. I chew my lip and glance up at him, blinking. I lean up and kiss him. “Happy Yule, Thorin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~  
> Men gajamu, men Sanzeuh. Men lananubukhs menu=I am sorry, my One. I love you.
> 
>  
> 
> PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I AM WRONG IN ANY WAY!!! This is the first time we see dwarves and Hobbits combing their traditions.
> 
> I based the Dwarfish Winter Festival, “âkmîn” (Khuz. Eng: to honor a god or gods), on Hanukkah and the Nordic Yuletide festivals (which is what carried into our own Christmas traditions and lasts 12 days). So there is a lighting of a candelabrum, but is has thirteen candle holders rather than nine. Hanukkah is an 8 day celebration, but the Menorah (Khuz: lukhudîn Eng: lights) has 9 holders-one for each day and an extra one (Heb: Shamash Eng: Attendant, Khuz: nahubâl Eng: Supporter, since I could not find “attendant” in Khuzdul). The ninth candle holder is strictly for practical use. There are various traditions, such as daily prayer, but most vary from family to family. 
> 
> To combine Hanukkah with Norse Yule, I added a hunt which was called the Wild Hunt where Odin would lead the hunt (what against, I do not know…) which caused supernatural or paranormal activity. But here, the Dwarves would go on a hunt for an animal to offer up to Mahal as a yearend sacrifice (Khuz: zarira Eng: the offering). I called this the “Tusel” (hunt of all hunts) and the zarira would be any sort of large animal that would prove a challenge to kill (boar, bear, lion, wolf, stag, etc.) which would then be given to Mahal and then cooked for a feast on the last day which is open to all who desires to attend âkmîn, which coincides with the Hobbit Yule Festival, which is two days long at the end of the previous year and beginning of the new.
> 
> The Hobbit festivities are also Nordic in origin in this story with a decorated tree, burning a Yule log, mistletoe, holly, etc. Its more nature/fertility based than the Dwarven festivities. They burn the decorated tree instead as a sacrifice to Yavanna, so much of the decorations are flammable material. This is followed by feasting and dancing that takes place till midnight the next night.


	13. Afteryule

Thorin lay on his back, an arm tucked under his pillow. I stared at him for a while before propping up on my elbows and pressing a kiss to his brow. He opened his eyes, peering at me. I added another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, my king,” I whispered. He turned me, blinking and mouth slightly open. “What?”

“You called me your king.”

“You’ll soon by my husband. I don’t see why I shouldn’t call you my king, too.”

“I know,” he said, taking my hand in his, kissing my knuckles. “I just never thought you’d call me that.”

“Why not?”

Thorin gave my hand another kiss.

“I would have you see me as your equal, _ûrzudel_. I accepted you might not recognize me as a king, and I have always been fine with that…” He studies the skin of my hand and I shift to my side, supporting my head on my hand.

“Thorin, you _are_ a king. Just because Hobbits don’t recognize royalty doesn’t mean we will deny your people the right to do so. Your people probably recognize me as royalty because of our upcoming marriage, though, to be honest, the thought _terrifies_ me. I don’t think I’m cut out for that the way you are. But I do love you and I will recognize your titles and, like it or not, you are _my_ king. You have my heart and…well, everything I have to give you is yours.” I press closer to him so to lay my head on his shoulder. “Does that make sense?”

“I suppose,” he says. I close my eyes, drifting to sleep—

Banging from downstairs startles us. Thorin swings out of bed, dressing quickly. I grab his arm.

“Thorin, no,” I hiss. He stares at me. “Don’t go.”

“Get dressed. Grab your crossbow. Hide,” he demands.

He grabs his sword, attaching it to his waist. I slide out, dressing as quickly as I can. My hands shake as I pick up my bow. I hear the clash of swords below and a loud bellow from Dwalin. Thorin is already downstairs, barking orders in Khuzdul.

I slide a bolt into the arrow shaft and head downstairs.

I should hide. Thorin told me to hide.

I can’t let Thorin face whatever got into our house alone.

Sighing, I tighten my hold on the bow and peer into the hallway. Thorin drove his sword into the belly of an Orc. Dwalin hewed another in half and Balin beheaded a third. One screeched, spying me. I aimed the bow and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew into its neck and a sword stuck out its chest.

“Bilbo, I told you to hide!” Thorin shouted.

“I couldn’t just—look out!”  

Thorin spun around while I tried to fix another bolt into the bow, slicing the belly of a tall Orc. It fell, screaming, and Thorin cut its head off. An Orc went for Dwalin.

“Dwalin!” Thorin shouted.

“I know!” Dwalin shot back, embedding an ax into the Orc.

Thorin shoved me toward the stairs. “ _Hide_.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Thorin looked ready to bodily remove me from the hallway, but I clutched the bow tighter to my chest.

“I can’t just hide each time you go out to fight,” I tell him. “If I can, I will fight by your side. I’m not a maid or a dame you can just push aside when enemies come to our doorstep.”

Thorin stared at me. His expression is unreadable.

“Into the kitchen. Your parents, Dis, and the boys are there. You have a better chance helping me if you can keep them safe from whoever else broke in. They’ll be cleared soon.”

It’s not what I hoped for, but I’ll accept it. I run to the kitchen and hide behind a wall, keeping an eye out for more Orcs to come down this way if they will. Their death screams chill me to the bone and I quake.

I peek out to see an Orc sniffing around. I aim the bow and pull, watching him fall. His scream brings others. Reloading takes longer than it should have, especially in the dark and the bow is knocked out of my hand. The Orc grips my throat, lifting me off the floor and pinning me to the table.

I tear at its hand and kick at it. The Orc raises its weapon, grinning nastily at me. It’s desperate and nasty, but I bite its hand. It screams, and lets me go long enough for me to grab a kitchen knife and ram it into its eye.

I wasn’t exactly _aiming_ for the eye, but it did the trick. It’s dead and I am too shaken to care.

Thorin entered the kitchen, a growl emitting from his throat. I held the knife in both hands and he examines the kitchen.

“What happened to your bow?”

“I was too slow loading it,” I rasped, rubbing my throat.

Thorin approached.

“I’m all right…somehow…is this…this all of them?”

“Yes,” he said, pulling the knife from my hand. “This is all of them. Balin is inspecting the lock right now. Dwalin and I are clearing the bodies. Everyone else is in the cellar. Go get them.”

I nod, sliding off the table and walk to the cellar on shaky legs. My fingers tremble as I knock on it.

“Dad? Mum? It’s okay now.”

I back away, listening to the door unlock and Mum rushes up, inspecting me for injuries.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m-I’m fine, Mum,” I say. She cups my face in her hands. “I’m okay. Promise.”

“You are more than okay, my boy,” she whispers.

Dad engulfs us in a hug while Dis shouts for Thorin. I gasp for breath as tears rolled down my cheeks. Mum kissed my forehead, whispering assurances that it was okay, that I was all right.

I don’t think “all right” really sums up how I feel. Not even close. Shaken, terrified…yeah, that’d be closer. Mum wipes my tears away.

“Help the others get the bodies out and we’ll start up tea and baths all around. All right?”

I nod, but only because I don’t know what else to do.

#

“It was broken, but there’s no way to tell if there was tampering prior to the attack,” Thorin concluded, examining the door. He turned to my father. “Can we stay in the Great Smials until a new door is made? It would take a few days. Three at the least, but I wouldn’t suspect more than a week.”

“Bella will know for sure when she gets back. It won’t be much longer now, I reckon.” Dad lit his pipe. “What a night…” He turned to me. “How are you feeling?”

“Worn out,” I say, gripping the tea cup in my hand a little bit tighter. “The initial…fear, I guess, is gone. I still feel rather shaken, though.”

“That’s normal,” Balin assured me, pinching some of Dad’s leaf and ignoring his unamused stare. “It was your first battle and for an inexperienced Hobbit, you did very well.”

“Then why do I feel like such a coward?” I mutter. I didn’t realize it was louder than I intended until their eyes shifted to me. I stared at my feet, a blush creeping up my neck and face.

Thorin took my hand in his.

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling me further into the house away Balin and Dad.

I sat on the couch and Thorin knelt in front of me, removing the cup from my hands and setting it aside before taking them in his.

“Bilbo, you are no coward. I’ve seen trained soldiers who are less courageous than you. Courage has many definitions, _ûrzudel_ , but it is mainly this: even when in the midst of fear and you think you are going to die, courage is standing firm and fighting nonetheless. How you feel right now is _normal_. Completely normal. So _never_ say you are a coward. Never say that, _âzyungel_. Are we clear?”

I nod, even though I don’t really feel assured. Thorin straightened.

“I’ve best get to work on a new door. Would you rather go to the forge with me or will you be all right here?”

“I guess I’ll stay,” I decide. “I’m not sure I want to leave Dad alone with Balin if Balin’s going to filch his Old Toby. I may as well be here if Dad gets it in his head to fight Balin off.”

Thorin snorted. “Let me know how that works out. I’ll regret missing that.”

#

Moving into the Smials, even if just for a little while, seemed suffocating with how many people were already camped there, both Dwarf and Hobbit. There were bed-rolls everywhere stacked on top of each other and tied together with the names of the family they belonged to.

Other than this, it was not too bad. At least I was left to myself save for when Mum or Dad checked on me. Sometimes it would be one of my uncles or my grandparents.

“Bilbo, c’mon!” My little cousins shouted, grabbing my hands and pulling me to where the Dwarves were. “C’mon! Meet Bofur and Bombur and Bifur!”

I wasn’t keen on meeting anyone right now, but allowed them to drag me over to a trio. A few children were climbing on a large, portly Dwarf with a ginger braid while the other two, both brunet, laughed at them.

One was clearly older and had an ax embedded in his head. He barked in rough Khuzdul when we arrived and the kids jumped at him, trying to get a better look at what he had in his hand. I kept my distance, unsure how to respond other than look anywhere _but_ at the ax.

“It’s all right if you stare,” the other said. He wore a fur hat on his head. “Bifur’s used to it.”

“Doesn’t stop it from being rude,” I tell him. He laughs.

“Aye, s’pose it does.” He tilts his head to the side. “Aren’t you the King’s Consort?”

“We aren’t married yet, so it wouldn’t be Consort,” I correct.

The Dwarf shrugs. “You seem rather consort-like to me these days. Good job at the _âkmîn_ by the way. You did good.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Here.” He rummaged in a sack, tossing something to me. A small figurine shaped like a rabbit. It was hunched on its haunches, the chin laid on its front paws and ears laid back.

“What is this?”

“Nothing special. Hobbits remind me of rabbits, that’s all.”

“We’re _not_ rabbits.”

“Well I _know_ that,” he snorts. “Don’t mean I’m not _reminded_ of ‘em. It’s a gift for you, my lord.” He winked. “Have a good night.”

“Bofur! Tell us a story, Bofur, _please_?”

“Oh, I suppose I shall…now what story should I tell tonight, hmm?”

I wasn’t expecting to join the children while the toymaker recounted a story of the past. I was hooked on his words and the images he provoked.

When I went to bed, I dreamt of war and dragons instead of the Orc I killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Ûrzudel=sun of suns  
> Âzyungel=love of loves  
> Âkmîn=Dwarvish winter festival


	14. Solmath

It was almost sad to leave the Great Smials when our new door was finally put into the hole our doorway was located.

Thorin had Dwarves guarding it at all hours while he made the new door.

Coming home was a relief. As much as I like my grandparents, spending the night among snoring Dwarves and Hobbits in the hallway was far from comfortable.

Mum promised pastries when the winter finally ended, which lifted Dwalin’s spirit immensely. I had warned her about Dwalin, but she assured me there was nothing to worry about.

If only I believed her.

“I can’t exactly blame him,” Bofur said, carving a new toy out of soap, when I told him about my annoyance toward the warrior.

We were sitting a large rock by the river. The day was quite bright and despite the grey skies, not a single snowflake could be seen.

“There’s tales far and wide about your mother’s cooking,” he said. putting the soap and carving knife away to light his pipe. “And most Dwarrow have a weakness for sweets.”

“I thought that was ale and meat.”

Bofur nodded seriously. “That too, but I won’t say no to raspberry scones, yeh know.”

I hum. “Mum does make good scones…”

“See.”

“What are we talking about?”

I squeak, almost sliding off the rock in surprise when Bofur’s beloved appeared, wrapping his arms around Bofur’s torso.

“I heard something about scones.”

“Bilbo’s mum’s cooking.”

“Ah. That makes sense. Hello, Bilbo.”

“Good morning, Nori,” I reply. “Not that you’re not welcome, but I thought you were on guard duty.”

“Just got relieved. Dwalin showed. Had to scram just in case.”

“In case what?”

“Oh, Dwalin and I…let’s just say we’re neither friends nor foes, but somewhere in between,” Nori said, smirking. Bofur sighed.

“What did you do now?”

“Nothing!” Nori exclaimed, affronted. Bofur narrowed his eyes. “Well…I _may_ have given a few faunts some tips about filching the farmer without risk of getting caught.”

I laugh, clutching my stomach and fell off the rock, flailing until I hit snow that broke my fall. True, I ended up being about three feet under the surface…

“Those little fuzzy-footed sprites will be decent burglars in no time.”

“Nori,” Bofur sighed. “We talked about this: you’re _not_ allowed to teach the fauntlings and dwarrowlings how to steal.”

“But  when I’m not on guard duty, I get so _bored_!”

Bofur sighed and looked over the edge of the rock. “Are you all right, Bilbo?” he asked. I stood, dusting myself off and straightened.

“Yes, I’m quite all right thanks.” Bofur and Nori started laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“You should see yourself!” Nori cackled

“It’s too cute! Far too much cuteness!” Bofur howled. I glare at them and begin climbing out of the hole I made. “Oh, come now, Bilbo, it’s all in good jest.”

“I am well aware of that,” I say, frowning at them.

“Just think on it,” Nori said. “You fell, then got up and it was a hole small enough that you could poke your head out. Add that Hobbits are quite an adorable species, especially our soon to be King’s Consort, and you get something akin to a kitten playing in the snow!”

I have to admit, that does make for an adorable image…

I cross my arms over my chest and glower at them. “But I’m not a kitten.”

I see another approach out of the corner of my eye and I turn to get a better look. I grin and wave at Thorin, beckoning to come further. Bofur and Nori slid off the rock and bowed to him.

“We’ll see you later, Bilbo,” Nori said, pulling Bofur along.

I furrow my brow. “All right.” Once they are far enough, I look at Thorin and my frown deepens. “Thorin, is everything all right?”

“You tell me,” he said.

His eyes are dark and his usual frown is deeper than usual. Is he angry? Has it been a bad day? But if so, why is it directed at me? I jut my chin out and cross my arms.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Thorin tenses and I can nearly hear his teeth grind. He turns around and walks off. I sigh. He’s doing _it_ again. I can’t imagine how many times I’ve told him to just _tell_ me if he has a problem with something. Get perspective rather than act all guarded and aloof.

I chase after him, grabbing his wrist. “Thorin, what is wrong? Please tell me. If I can help then I want to.”

He stared at me. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions about the toymaker.”

“Bofur? Why would you pass judgment on him?” I blink. “Are you jealous of him?”

“You spend quite a lot of time in his presence.”

I groan. “Because you’re busy and I happen to enjoy being with Bofur _and_ Nori. Bofur’s taken! He has a One, you idiot.”

I can’t believe he would assume I would be with Bofur when we are both devoted to others. And it hurts that Thorin would…would…

“Do you really think I would hurt you like that?” I ask, letting his wrist go. “When I love you so much?”

Thorin stares at me.

I stride away as best I can in the snow, holding back my tears and my jaw tight.

I don’t understand that fool! Have I in any way shone myself to be anything _less_ than loyal to him? Have I given him any reason to doubt me?

I’m not going to be able to get home first, hiding behind a tree and sliding to the ground, hiding my face and letting my tears flow. How dare he doubt me! What in Yavanna’s name is wrong with him?! Why would he think so poorly of me?!

“Bilbo!”

I gasp, hugging my knees tighter, ignoring Thorin’s calls, though they grew louder. He runs by and a few second later, I feel his hand on my head.

“Bilbo,” he whispers, “ _Men âzyungel_ , I am sorry. I shouldn’t have…I know you won’t betray me, but I just…” He sighs, lifting me in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

He carries me back to Bag End, trying to assure me that he does trust me and that he loves me and that he had let his jealousy get the better of him. He says he knows he shouldn’t have let it rule him, but he couldn’t stop it clawing whenever he saw me smile at something Bofur said or did. That he feels cannot make me smile like that.

My Dwarf is a fool and I let him know that, telling him that he does make me smile and that I am proud to be his One. I try to explain that there is no one else I can see myself loving; that his accusation broke my heart. I tell him that jealousy arises from insecurities and that we need to discuss them.

He is awkward. I don’t care, I think it’s endearing.

He is stern. And yet he is also the sweetest Dwarf I know.

He doesn’t express himself well. That is not true. His expression is through action, not speech and I have enough knickknacks and mathoms to prove it.

“I don’t wear your bead lightly, Thorin,” I whisper, clutching his tunic in my hands to keep them from shaking so much. “I don’t doubt that you love me, so don’t doubt me. Please don’t, Thorin. It hurts me when you think I’m capable of hurting you. I would _never_ do that to you. I love _you_ and I wish you could believe that. I don’t mind that our marriage is arranged. I might have fallen in love with you anyway, no matter how long it would take for our paths to cross.”

Thorin runs his fingers through my hair.

The only sounds in the house came from the kitchen where Mum and Dad were busy making lunch.

I nuzzle against Thorin’s chest, smelling the smoke and iron and sweat which belongs to my husband.

#

Dwalin was not in a good mood. Or at least I don’t think he’s in a good mood, stomping about and scowling as he is. Even Thorin seems a little worried by Dwalin’s hostile attitude.

Balin is the one who speaks first when Dwalin won’t stop scowling.

“Brother,” he said, “Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” he growled and refused say more on the matter. I told Thorin I didn’t like the idea of him using his nephews as spies, but he waved me off, assuring the boys could handle Dwalin if he did catch them.

Perhaps I should fear for the Durin line’s sanity.

Still, they returned with quite interesting news:

“Dwalin’s in love with Ori,” Kili said.

“Ori son of Riika daughter of Jori,” Fili added.

Thorin and Dis, on hearing this announcement, got quite odd looks on their faces and had gone quite silent. I sighed.

“What are you two thinking?”

“Well, you don’t want Dwalin to keep hitting on your mother, do you?” Dis asked.

“Ori is the brother of Dori, a quite skilled warrior…he gets along quite well with many Hobbits and I think recently started to court Amaranth…Yes, I think that’s right,” Thorin added, stroking his beard.

“I’ve a bad feeling about this,” I mutter. “Whatever it is you’re cooking up, I’ll help. But _only_ to keep you two out of too much trouble. And for the sake of my mother’s virtue.”

They weren’t listening, already mumbling and snickering in Khuzdul their beginning plans.

I feel I should be afraid on Dwalin’s behalf.


	15. Heart's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late.

I just have to make sure Ori and Dwalin survive the day to make it to the party tonight. Yeah. Should be easy, right?

 _Wrong_.

Nothing is easy when you have your Dwarven fiancé and his sister trying to muck everything up! Add in a multitude of upset lasses and a hen-pecked scribe…

Absolute disaster.

Without reinforcements anyway…

“I’m against this.”

If said reinforcements would stop protesting. I pinch the bridge of his nose. “Dori,” I say. “Is Ori of age?”

“Yes.”

“He’s got a good job now?”

“Quite. He’s a responsible lad.”

“So is Dwalin,” I say. “Yes, early on in settling here, he was a bit of a flirt, but none of us really saw him act the way he does around Ori before, right?” I look at Thorin and Dis. They nod in agreement. “What is there to be against? Is it because he’s a guard? Or a warrior? Because I think that’s considered one of his more attractive qualities. Or do you don’t want Ori to grow up?”

Several pairs of eyes fix on Dori. Amaranth patted his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Dori sighed. “Fine, _but_ if he hurts my brother.”

“Then I won’t stand in your way.”

“I might,” Thorin said. Dis and I glare at him. “What? Dwalin’s my best friend, and I have no relationship with Ori as far as I am concerned. So, my loyalties will not be divided.”

Dis slapped the back of his head. I’ll deal with him later. For now, Operation Heart Day will commence.

#

I found Ori sketching the edge of the Old Forest, leaning against a fence several feet away.

“Ori,” I call. He turns to me, blinking. “You’re brothers are looking for you.” I halt in front of him. “They’re at the wall. Dori’s worried sick.”

“But I’m—”

“I’d be more worried about what your brothers will do if you don’t let them know you’re all right. The forest will still be here when you get back.”

He groans, muttering under his breath, and stuffs his notebook in his satchel. I let him put cork his inkwell and he follows me to the wall.

“I really am sorry about all this. I know you like sketching.”

“Its fine,” he sighs. “Not your fault that my brothers don’t listen to me when I tell them not to worry.”

“You’re family’s close. Nothing wrong with that,” I say, trying to calm him down.

“It _is_ when they smother you!”

I stare at him. I feel horrid for deceiving him. “Well, if you want to yell at them, go ahead. I certainly won’t stop you.”

“Believe me,” Ori said, glaring at the wall. “I will.” He strides closer and I lean against a tree. Branches snap in the snow behind me and I turn around. Thorin leans against my tree.

“How is he?”

“Not happy,” I say. “He thinks his brothers sent me to find him, so he’s going to yell at them. Or so he thinks.” Thorin hummed. “What about Dwalin?”

“Peeved that I made him switch shifts with Nori,” Thorin said. “He’ll get over it.”

“And when they realize this is set up?” I ask, looking at Thorin. He shrugged and held his hand out to me. “Shall we see how they’re doing?”

I look at his hand. Sighing, I offer my own and let him pull me to see how our quarries are fairing.

“…Aren’t here?!” Ori shouted at the guards. I wince. He looks angrier than I thought he would be. “What do you mean my brothers aren’t here, Dwalin?!”

“Lad, Thorin had me switch with Nori an hour ago. I’ve not seen either of them since yesterday.”

“Bilbo said they were here! Are you saying Bilbo’s a liar?”

“What?! _No!_ Who’d be fool enough to do _that_!”

“Then _where are my brothers_?!”

“How should I…Bilbo told you they were here?”

“I just said that, yes,” Ori sighed. Dwalin growled, crossing his arms over his chest and muttering. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No,” Dwalin said, “But I do believe our King and his Consort are meddling.”

I glance at Thorin, wondering if we should try to escape.

“Why would they meddle?” Ori asked. “And meddle in _what_?”

Thorin squeezes my shoulder and I look at them again. Dwalin tugs on his beard and Ori’s arms are crossed over his chest. I still think we should run for it in case Dwalin decides to hunt us down.

“They’re close by,” Dwalin said, ignoring Ori’s question. Deliberately, I’m sure of it. “And I doubt they’re working alone…likely Thorin’s lads are in on it. His sister as well. I’d be mildly surprised if our brothers were, too.”

Ori huffed. “If they’re not here and you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, then I’m heading back to the forest before it gets dark.”

“Ori, wait.”

“Why?”

I wince. I always assumed Ori was soft spoken, but perhaps not so much when irked?

He stares at Dwalin, brow nit and mouth set in a smile.

Dwalin runs his hand over his head, breathing deeply. “Ori, would…would you like to get a drink with me at the Dragon? After my shift?”

Ori blinked, the ire shifting to confused. Then realization, eyes bugging and a blush tinting his cheeks. “Oh. That…well…” He swallows, staring at his feet.

 _Come on, Ori_.

“Yes. I’d like to have a drink with you, Mr. Dwalin.”

“Yes!”

“Kili!”

Thorin groaned, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. “Those _fools_.”

“They’re _your_ nephews.”

“Not today.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the chaos about to break loose. We ran for the forest, hiding behind a tree.

“Think we lost them?”

“No one to lose if you’re not being chased,” Thorin said. “I believe Dwalin was too busy dealing with Fili and Kili to notice us. For which, we can be grateful.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek. His lips trailed to my jaw and my neck. I push him away.

“Not _here_ ,” I say. “It’s far too cold.”

 “For a kiss?”

He reached to grab my hand and pull me back, but I jumped away, a smile tugging the corners of my mouth up. Thorin stared at me before stepping forward to grab me again. I darted behind a tree, and scooped up enough snow to pack into a ball.  

Thorin jumped around the corner, trying to pin me. I skipped backward and threw the snowball. It hit his shoulder. He paused, bewildered, staring at his shoulder.

I laughed, hiding behind another tree to make the second. I tiptoed around him as he tried to catch me again, taking the chance to throw the ball. This time, it hit the back of his head. I took the time to make a third. Thorin stumbled with a shout, hand wiping the snow off his head.

He spun around and stared at me. “Are you declaring war, Master Baggins?”

I tap my chin, grinning at him.

“Maybe.”

I threw the ball at him and he dodged. It slammed into the tree behind him and he ran at me. I tried to escape, but Thorin lunged when I turned to run, pouncing like a cat on a mouse. Thorin straddled my waist, pinning me to the ground.

“Thorin! Get off! It’s cold!”

“Say the one who decided to throw snowballs at me.”

“You could’ve made your _own_ snow balls, Sweetheart,” I pointed out, trying to wiggle free. Thorin groaned and I stilled. Right. Not the best idea I’ve had. Thorin leaned down to get his kiss—and snow is stuffed up my shirt.

 I screamed, shoving Thorin off, trying to get snow off my skin. Thorin is laughing. Once the snow is off me, I feel something hit the back of my head, just as cold and I grow rigid.

“ _Thorin_!”

“What?” he asked, holding another snowball in his hand. “It’s just a little payback, _ûrzudel_.”

He threw the ball at me and I squeaked, ducking. It flew overhead as I made a new ball. Thorin threw another at me. I dodged, tossing my own ball at him.

It hit his face.

He sputtered, scraping the snow off with his fingers. I tossed another ball at him, hitting his chest this time before Thorin ran at me again. I jumped back, hiding behind a tree, giggling too hard to think or act when Thorin caught me again. He lifted me up and my hands grabbed his shoulders.

“You’ve had your fun,” he said. “Now I would like my kiss, if you don’t mind.”

I pecked his lips. “Happy?”

“That is _not_ a kiss.”

“Oh? Felt like one to me,” I say, pressing my lips to his again, giving him enough time to return it. “Better?” I ask, smiling against his mouth.

“Much.”

“Are you going to put me down now?”

“Now why would I do that?” Thorin asked, smirking. His hands squeezed my butt and I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Why would I put down the greatest treasure I have, _Ghivashel_?”

“Perhaps this ‘treasure’ would give back if allowed to walk on its own feet,” I say. “And will reward you _when we get home_. You know: that place this is _warm_ and _toasty_ and has _food_.”

“All right,” Thorin said, stealing another kiss before setting me on the ground. “All right. We’ll go home—what are you doing?”

I stuffed snow down his shirt and ran for the path, ignoring his screams.

Payback is very sweet.


	16. Rethe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: 
> 
> BAMF ahead, prepare to do one of the following:  
> A) Giggle  
> B) Cheer  
> C) Duck and Cover

When the snow started turning into puddles, there was little rejoicing. We survived. We lived. But it also began the search for those who were missing to see what remained of them, if anything remained. The river began to flow again, cutting off any way for our enemies to cross into the Shire.

Three weeks after the winter ended, Construction on the houses by the river and the wall renewed with vigor. I let Mum and Balin work on the wedding invitation, insisting that I help the others at the river. Thorin grumbled often about how far back we’ve been set. I understand his annoyance, which is why I insisted on helping despite his insistence that he doesn’t need it.

Too bad for him. Without as many hands as possible, none of the houses will be livable for another several months! He can grumble and bark all he likes, but that won’t stop me from helping whether he wants to or not.

By the last days of Rethe, word began to travel:

More Dwarves were coming. Most of the Shire didn’t mind, though there was hope that they weren’t immigrants as well! Thorin was more worried about why they were travelling in winter, especially when word came that they were a caravan far from the East.

As the caravan neared the Shire, Thorin, Dis, Dwalin, and I went to meet them. At the head of the caravan, wrapped in warm furs—though they weren’t really needed anymore, was a Dwarf who was closer in age to Dis. On seeing them, he beamed and dismounted his pony and approached.

“Cousins!”

“It is good to see you, Dain,” Thorin said, embracing him. “What madness drove you to come in the winter?!”

“Well,” Dain glanced at the caravan. “We received news from Balin that you were getting married and I had thought I’d come and meet my new cousin. We should be able to stay for the wedding. Where is she?”

I felt slighted by that. He ought to have at least known I was _male_.

“ _He_ ,” Thorin corrected, waving me forward and I approached. “Dain, this is my fiancé, Bilbo Baggins, grandson of Thain Took.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, unsure how to feel of the scrutiny Dain fixed on me. Is he upset that I’m male? Or a Hobbit? “Welcome to the Shire. You’ll have to excuse me, but I should get to Tuckborough and let my grandfather know of your arrival. How many are in your caravan?”

“There is twenty of us.”

“So few?” Dis asked.

“It’s been a hard winter,” Dain said sadly. We can all agree to that.

I leave with Dis, letting Dwalin and Thorin handle the caravan. “He doesn’t seem to like me,” I muse. “Is he against who or what I am?”

“No! Of course not. Many Dwarves marry another of the same sex. He is not opposed to you as a male and I doubt he cares that you’re a Hobbit. It’s the others I worry about. Some of the Dwarves on Dain’s council are purists and I worry what they’ll say about the new blood mixing between Hobbits and Dwarves. But, then again, I’ve come across a few _Hobbits_ who are like that as well.”

“I’m sorry to say I can believe that,” I say, thinking of Aunt Camilla. “But I doubt the Dwarves of Erebor will allow them to act so callously. Not after what happened during _âkmîn._ ”

“No. We certainly will not, Brother,” Dis promised. My chest swelled as though filled with air.

“Thanks, Dis.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “That is what siblings are for.”

#

Dwalin and Thorin arrived in Tuckborough with Dain’s caravan late at night. Thorin greeted me with a quick kiss before my grandfather ordered us to join them for dinner. But the kiss was tense.

“What was that for?” I ask sitting beside him.

“I need a reason to kiss you?”

“When you’re _this_ tense, I think you do.” I place my hand on top of his and allow him to hold it. “What’s wrong, Thorin?”

“Dain wouldn’t stop asking questions about you. Either he is against our union _or_ he likes you.”

I roll my eyes. “You can always lord it over him that I belong to you,” I say. “And if he’s against it, he can stuff his foot in his mouth for all I care. In fact, if any of them don’t like that we’re getting married, they can _all_ stuff their feet in their mouths.” Thorin snorted.

My silly, insufferable, insecure Dwarf king. I hope he gets over these insecurities soon because they drive me up the wall. Not that I’m any better, to be honest. But at least I have faith in our relationship.

Dain has been roped into a conversation with my grandfather. He looks more stern. “I think he doesn’t approve…” I say, watching him with a frown.

“That’s his confused face,” Dwalin said, snorting.

“You know he’s angry or upset when his ears turn pink,” Dis added, giggling.

“Well, at least he’s not like Thorin,” I say, lips curling into a smile. “He rarely looks anything _other_ than angry!” Thorin glared at me. “I love you,” I tell him, kissing his cheek. “No matter how much you scowl.”

“I don’t scowl _that_ often.”

“You scowl all the time,” Dis said, smirking at him. Thorin rolled his eyes and took a bread roll from a basket.

“Says the woman with a permanent grimace.”

“I do _not_!” Dis protested. I wonder if I’ll have to sit between them to keep them from acting like Fili and Kili some days. For now, I’ll ignore them in favor of eating dinner. I scan the table, nearly half of the dwarves present that arrived with Dain keep staring at me as though I was something to squash and it makes my stomach flip.

I don’t like being reminded of my attacker. True, he had been ostracized for having attacked me, resigned to a fate worse than death, from what I’ve come to understand, but these Dwarves do not know the consequences Thorin had laid out…

I shake my head. It would be unwise for them to let their xenophobia rule them when in a different land. Besides, I’m not the _only_ Hobbit who’s being courted or courting a Dwarf. They’ll see that soon enough. I sort of think it’d be funny to mess with them anyway.

Dain laughed at something my grandfather said and I kind of wish I knew what had been said.

Oh well.

“ _…on the feet…_ ”

“… _can’t be normal…_ ”

“… _useless! Can’t fight for themselves…_ ”

I turn to the Dwarves whispering. “Is there something you would like to say to me?” I ask them. They silenced. The room stilled as eyes turned on them.

“No, Master Baggins,” One of them said. I purse my lips.

“If you are against my cousin’s marriage, you have had _more_ than enough chances to turn around and go home!” Dain said, his ears reddening. “I have explained countless times that to have an alliance with the people of the Shire can be beneficial and I will _not_ see you ruin it because you cling to the past!”

I look at Thorin to see how he reacts to Dain’s defense. He is smirking. Better to just watch, then.

“But…my lord,” one said, standing, “a marriage is unnecessary for an alliance!”

“For _us_ ,” my grandfather said, also getting to his feet, “it _is_. It is sad to admit, but we are a people set in our ways, but, arranged or not, we are not foolish enough to let _prejudice_ get in the way of love.”

“You decided to marry the king of Erebor—our _king—_ to a _Halfling_!”

The collective winces from my Dwarves are warning enough, I think. I sink into my seat and take one of the biscuits Dwalin had stolen from the kitchen moments ago.

Dain watched us and furrowed his brow. Thorin signed something to him in Iglishmek and I can only think that he told Dain to “take cover.”

Smartest bit of advice he can give as my grandfather’s lips curl into a snarl.

One: “Halfling” is a terrible insult and usually we let outsiders get away with it. Two: I’m the son of my grandfather’s eldest and “favorite” daughter (he’d never admit _that_ , though), ergo I’m probably his favorite grandchild (maybe). And three: you don’t anger a Hobbit with Took blood. Ever. Especially not the head of the Took clan.

“You _dare_ ,” Grandfather began, “to come into _my_ house which I have generously opened the doors for, eat _my_ food in a gesture of kindness to weary travelers, and then _repay_ me by insulting _my_ grandson?! We have offered to open our homes and our markets to the Dwarves of Erebor willingly! We have included them in our festivals and have been included in yours! When your kinsmen have been rejected by the native inhabitants of the Blue Mountains, they sought our help and we gave it! And if the Shire could have afforded it, if there was not risk of _your_ reaction to my grandson toward _them_ , I would have gladly given them land and aid _freely_!”

Dis and Thorin are snickering to themselves like a pair of Faunts or Dwarflings watching a puppet show. Grandmother is passing more biscuits around which Dwalin gladly takes. Dain’s eyebrows have risen to his forehead. I just try to keep low and let the storm breeze over me.

Dain signs something to Thorin, who sends a quick reply back. Whatever is signed between them makes Dain’s eyebrows rise further up. Then he groans, hiding his face in his hand, and also sinks in his seat.

“And _yet_ you come to our lands and belittle my people! For what purpose?! What horrid thing have we done to the Iron Hills I may ask? Or is your only ailment that we have pointed ears? Curlier hair? No beards? A love of things that grow rather than shine?”

Thorin leaned in. “Remind me never to make your grandfather angry.”

“After this, will a reminder truly be necessary?”

“Maybe not…”

“If that is the case, then you are welcome to leave and _rot_!” Grandfather finished. I sucked in a breath. That might be overboard.

Dain straightened and cleared his throat. “Good Thain,” he began. “I will punish my council members as seen fit. For now, I ask for pardon. Not all of us have come to disavow the union of my cousin to your grandson. I beg you not judge all of us of Ered Engrin so harshly. I cannot speak for all of my council, but I have come to witness a wedding.” He glared at the naysayers. “And I intend to do just that as a representative of my land.”

Thorin leaned against me. “I see where you get it now,” he whispered.

I snicker. “I’ve always been a bit more Took than Baggins. Many nights my father has wept because my mother’s blood is strong in me.” Thorin snickered.

“I had _hoped_ to begin some trade relations with the Shire as well,” Dain continued, “But we will discuss that later.” The way he ended “later” sounded more like a question than a statement. Still his words are heard and hopefully my grandfather will not turn him away too quickly.

I release the breath I’ve been holding when Grandfather looks at Dain and nods. “At a later time,” he said. “I am a reasonable Hobbit and would think we may _both_ benefit from trade. In the meantime, we have a few spare rooms open for you and your council.”

Dain stood and bowed. “You are generous and benevolent ruler, Thain Took. Thank you for your hospitality.”

I lean against Thorin. “What exactly did you tell him while Grandfather was shouting?”

“That the Old Took is the closest equivalent to a King.”

“ _Thorin_!”

“What? It’s true!”


	17. Astron

“I know we’re by the river, Thorin,” I say, letting him lead me closer. “So I know we’re at the house. I don’t understand why I need to blindfolded.”

“Just…trust me,” Thorin said.

I sigh. “I _do_ trust you.” He picks me up and I flail. “Thorin!”

“I don’t want you stubbing your toes.”

“My _toes_ will be fine. Put me down.” I hear a door open and I’m set on my feet. “ _Now_ can I take off the blindfold?” The door closes and Thorin wraps his arms around my middle, pulling me to his chest. His beard rubs against my cheek.

“Now.” I pull the cloth off and I gasp. “You like it.”

“I love it,” I say, grinning, leaning against his chest. “I love _you_. This is beautiful, Thorin.” It’s no Hobbit Hole, but the wood is sturdy and smells of earth. Iron holds the beams together, rims the windows and doors, and acts as hinges and knobs…

“Would you like a tour?” Thorin whispers in my ear.

“I would love one.”

He untangles his arms from around me and leads me down hard wood floors were polished and covered in a burgundy red carpet leading into a mostly bare living room.

The fireplace was made of stone, firewood and timber already packed in. Cast iron fire poker and cleaner were set beside it.

In the center of the room was a round, polished wood coffee table with iron legs.

The living room leads to an empty room, which Thorin thinks could be a study or library, then to a dining room with a complete table and six chairs.

An iron chandelier with six candle holders hangs above it. A long pole with a wick at the end rests against the wall. It is held up by a chain and Thorin shows me how to lower it so we can change the candles when they run out.

Another doorway leads into a kitchen.  This room, besides the living room, is the brightest.

A skylight window lets sunlight in from the roof, bearing down on a wooden counter and iron stove. Wood and iron cabinets line the walls.

Thorin showed me where he put cast iron skillets and pots. He showed me that the plumbing worked. There is an oven above a fireplace and an iron hook with a kettle hanging from it.

There is also a spice cabinet and a china cabinet waiting to be filled.

Thorin leads me down the hall, showing me a bathroom made from stone tiles.

The tub is thick porcelain held in an iron frame, same as the sink and the toilet and the mirror is a large oval glass framed in steel and iron hanging over the sink. The towel racks hang beside the tub.

After this, he leads me upstairs where the master bedroom is. It’s the last door on the right.

The bed frame is also wooden with wrought iron circling the legs. On either side are small dressers, a larger one is pressed under a window. A closet with wood and iron hangers is a few feet from the dresser, hangers of wood and iron waiting to be used.  

I turn to Thorin and wrap my arms around his neck. “Think we should let the guests know we need a little more furniture? I think we’re missing a mattress, couches and armchairs, pottery…”

“Well the important stuff is done,” he said, his hands holding my waist. “Everything else is just decoration if you think about it.”

“You’ve lived a far too Spartan lifestyle if a _couch_ is considered decoration to you,” I tease. “Besides, I’m kidding. The couch can wait. A mattress and bed coverings cannot.”

“Dis is making sheets for us. Don’t tell her I told you. Otherwise the wedding will be cancelled and you might have to suspect my sister’s finally killed me.”

“Well that won’t do! You’re not dying on me until you’re wrinkly and you’re hair is entirely white! I’ll be very cross if you die before you’re old and shuffling around in slippers, odd things though they are.”  

Thorin threw his head back and laughed.

I harrumphed and pushed up on my feet to kiss his nose. “It’s rather big for just two people…”

“It’s ours, but I’ve also rooms for Dis and the boys,” he said. “Though those rooms won’t be inhabited for at least a week after the wedding. Or a month.” I arch a brow and his grin widens. “Or six. I was going to tell them to stay with your parents after the wedding for a while.”

“I can live with that. I’m fond of your nephews, but I’d rather then _not_ be running around underfoot for a little while.”

“Good because there a couple things I’d like to do before then.” His eyebrows wiggled and I laughed. He picked me up and I squeaked, tightening my hold around his neck. “Thorin! Don’t do that! On the ground. My feet should be on the ground!”

“I like carrying you, though.”

“For Yavanna’s sake, I’m not some lass you can just carry across the threshold!”

“I believe I _did_ carry you across the threshold already,” he pointed out. I huff. I hate it when he’s right like that. “And you didn’t have to be a lass. Nor would I care if you were, _men sanûrzud_. I love you for _you_ , Bilbo, and that, _men melekûn_ , is all that matters.”

Damn him. How’d he learn to be so romantic in such a short amount of time?! It’s not fair! “I’d still rather you at least hold me differently. I can’t kiss you properly like this.”

He smirks at me. “Oh?”

“Will _that_ change your mind?”

“You mean it’s easier to kiss me if I hold you like this,” he lets go briefly, catching me around my waist and hoisting me back up so his hands gripped my thighs, holding them on either side of his waist.

“Yes,” I say, grinning. “ _Exactly_ like this.” I press my lips to his, coaxing a slow and languid rhythm from Thorin, running my fingers through his beard and his hair, tugging on his long locks.

#

We ran home, unable to avoid the heavy rain shower and getting splattered in mud.

My parents are going to kill us when we arrive: we spent too much time at the river, then got wet and muddy…our only hope is that Fili and Kili won’t get any ideas.

Thorin tugs his boots off outside and leaves them inside by the door before picking me up and flinging me onto his shoulder.

“Damn it, Thorin! You brute! Let me go!”

“I’m more scared of what you’re mother will do to us if we track mud,” he said. Mum poked her head out from the kitchen, brow furrowed. She laughed on seeing us and I groan, beating my fists against his back.

“Thorin, put me down!”

“No.”

“Boys, take a shower before dinner!” Mum shouted at us. “And for goodness sakes, behave yourselves!”

Thorin dropped me off in the bathroom and ran out to change into clean clothes while I took a shower to rid myself of mud. I entered our room after and grabbed fresh smalls and trousers.

“Did you _have_ to do that?”

“Do what?” Thorin asked, grinning from his side of the bed.

I groaned, rolling my eyes and changed. As I pulled on a shirt, Thorin pinched my bottom and ran out before I could retaliate. What has gotten into him?

“That does not count as behaving, Thorin Oakenshield!!” I shout at him as I adjust my suspenders and enter the kitchen. I punch his arm in retaliation and he just keeps snickering. He flinches though. I’ll take my victories where I can.

“Do I want to know?” Dwalin asked, his arm around Ori’s shoulders. Ori stared at the plate of baked chips as a predator would its prey.

“No,” Thorin and I say. Mum rolls her eyes and Dad scoffs.

“Save it for the honeymoon, you two,” he says.

I blush, gaping at him. “Dad!” Mum squeezes his shoulder, smiling at him. There is a knock on the door and I make my escape before they kiss to answer it.

Okay, so it’s a  little puerile of me, but I don’t want to see my parents exchanging _any_ kind of fluids. They’ll use the argument of “how do you think you were born,” of course, but I’d rather pretend my parents weren’t capable of having sex.

Gandalf leans down, peering into the hall.

“Good evening, Gandalf,” I say, stepping aside for him. “Please come in. We’re about to have dinner if you’d like to join us.” I take his hat and his staff for him.

“Thank you, Bilbo, but I have already eaten with your grandparents. I may join you for desert later, though, if time allows.”

 “I’ll let Mum know, then,” I tell him, setting his hat on the coat rack and the propping the staff against the wall. Mum is ecstatic when she sees Gandalf, expressing her joy in that he could come to the wedding and let off his fireworks for it.

I look at Thorin and he shrugs. Well, that’s what we get for letting my parents and his sister and advisor plan the wedding for us. Still, I thought we were kept in the loop and I asked Mum about it.

“Well, we weren’t sure he’d be able to come, so we left it out unless Gandalf could come,” she said. She frowned. “Do you and Thorin not want fireworks?”

Thorin and I look at each other. “I don’t mind.”

“Nor I,” I add. “So long as no one’s pants catch fire again.”

“What?” Dwalin asks, perking up. Of course he’d find that entertaining. Gandalf cleared his throat.

“I happened to have been distracted by a brave little warrior who engaged me in a swordfight. I can hardly be blamed for that.” My ears turn pink and I try to disappear under the table. Mum laughed.

“Bilbo was eight years old and had just gotten a toy sword from his grandfather for on Midsummer’s Eve. He thought it would be wise to attack Gandalf…”

_Yavanna have mercy on me. I beg you._

Thorin leaned on the table, smirking at me.  I’m not surprised he finds this entertaining. I try to become smaller. He looks at Dwalin. “Maybe we should.”

“We should,” Dwalin agreed, returning the smirk with a feral glint in it. Ori sighs and I look from one to the other.

“Should…what?”

“Teach you swordsmanship,” they chimed.

“ _No_.”

“Oh come on, Bilbo,” Thorin said. “We’ll start small. Toy swords. Then work our way up to real ones. I could forge one specifically for you easily.”

“Thorin,” I pinch his cheeks and his mouth squishes. “ _No_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Khuzdul~
> 
> Men sanûrzud=my perfect sun
> 
> Men melekûn=my hobbit


	18. The Wedding of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield

The realization that my wedding was literally a week away hit me hard. I almost felt sick. A case of nerves, everyone was saying. Happens to everyone on their wedding day.

And that was a week ago.

It didn’t go away. I’ve no problem marrying Thorin. None at all. I love him and we knew from the beginning the one year would lead to marriage. It helps to think of it this way: nothing, essentially, is changing between me and Thorin. We won’t be calling each other fiancés, but husbands. We will live together alone—that, I don’t actually mind. It’ll be nice to enjoy a relaxing morning in bed without having to keep an ear out for my mother’s screeching…

I can do this and I have no issues with being married to Thorin.

But does it _have_ to be so…grandiose?

“Bilbo, stop tugging on your vest,” Mother snapped, slapping my hands away from the hem of the gold vest. “You’ll stretch the threads if you keep it up.”

“I can’t help it,” I mumble, fingers curling around the hem again. Mum takes my hands in hers. “Did it have to be so big?”

“You’re marrying a king! What else would you expect?” Mum said, brushing a rebellious curl away from my eyes. The braid hangs in front of my ear, the bead shining in the  candle light. “It won’t be so bad. Just keep your eyes on Thorin. Today is about the two of you. Everyone else is here to support the both of you. Don’t worry about what else this marriage represents.”

I bite my lip. “Focus on Thorin. Right. I can do that.”

“Good. Does that help?”

 “A bit.” She kisses my cheek and I take my hands back. “I should get my coat,” I say, getting the gold jacket. It’s ridiculous how much gold thread had been put into my wedding outfit. Dwarves usually try to decorate their spouses in as much gold and jewels as they can and Hobbits generally wear bright colors to weddings. A gold wedding outfit was the closest thing we could agree on.

Still, I feel ridiculous wearing an outfit that, if sold, could buy…

I have no clue. Ten years worth of food? I put it on adjusting it so my shoulders didn’t feel so restricted and head downstairs. Mum grins at me and her eyes glisten. I don’t want her to start crying, but at the same time, I’ll let her have her sentimental moments. I feel there will be many of them.

Dad joins us a moment later in a yellow vest and green jacket to match mum’s green and yellow gown. They walk out of the house first and I lock the door behind me. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what I’ll find at the party tree.

There, the tree’s leaves flutter in the wind, whistling.

A stone archway with ivy woven around it stands a couple feet away from the tree on a new stone platform. (The Dwarves insisted on making one since this area was so widely used. They figured something a little more permanent would be better suited and we had agreed.) It wasn’t large, by two stone blocks high and was ten blocks wide. The blocks were a foot high and a foot wide. The stairs around it progressed downward to the grass. The smallest blocks were half a foot by one.  

There were four pillars, one for each corner of reaching for the sky as it was likely the area would soon also become akin to a sort of temple for our deities. For now, the pillars were decorated in different flowers tucked into ivy vines: apple blossoms, gardenias, hollies, and violets.  Tulips were in carved stone pots, a mix of red and yellow in each pot. In the center was a table.

The table was covered in a white cloth and a large wreath of red and white roses surrounded the table, pinning the cloth down. In the center of the table were three candles. The middle one was a unity candle. On the right stood two goblets and a pitcher of wine; to the left of the candles was a vine of ivy.

Mum brushed my curls away again and picked up a jeweled flower crown. Usually, we’d wear a real one, but this was another compromise between my people and Thorin’s. It was emerald ivy with pink quartz apple blossoms, marble gardenias, amethyst violets, and ruby and white gold roses. The roses made four points at each side of the crown.

I thanked her and put it on my head in a way that would keep it from snagging or tangling, and resumed fidgeting with my vest. Mum slapped my hands away.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, smoothing out the jacket and the ascot. “There,” she grinned. “You look so handsome, Bilbo.” Her eyes glistened again and she huffed. “Well, you’re dad and I will be sitting up front, so you know. And stop fidgeting so much!”

“I’ll try, but I feel I need to do something with my hands,” I snap.

“Stuff them in your pockets then,” she said, patting my cheek. She pulled me into an embrace. “We are so proud of you, sweetheart.” I return the hug. “We have been blessed to have such a noble son.”

“I love you too, Mum,” I say. She releases me and escapes into the crowd. I reach for my vest again and stop, lowering my hands to either side, opening and closing my fists instead. I can do this. I’ve been waiting for this day and yet I don’t feel anywhere close to ready for it.

Thorin arrives and I’m pulled behind a screen by some of the women. Superstitious busybodies! Still, I’m eager to get a glimpse of him before the ceremony starts and I find a gap in which to do so. I recognize him. Balin and Dwalin flank either side of him. I wish I could see what they were wearing other than a crown of Dwarfish fashion.

Once he’s gone, the women leave, wishing me luck. I chew my lip waiting for the music to begin. Violins strike a chord and a harp is played. I swallow, giving my vest one final tug. Fili and Kili grin at me, running by with two pillows in their hands. I spy Dis hiding her face in her hands, but otherwise, no composure is broken. I sigh and follow after them at a calmer pace, hands at my sides and head high.

Thorin is dressed in his family’s colors and gold. His crown frames his face and I am awed by the magnificence of my fian— _no._ My _husband._ His trousers are black with gold trim as are his leather boots. His white shirt is covered by a blue and gold doublet and he wears a cloak of blue and gold. The crown is silver—I was told it was an imitation of the Mithril crown still located in Erebor—and like mine, is four pointed, but less floral in design and emulated the stone more.

I thought I might freeze on the way to his side, but rather, I feel I might be walking a little too fast, my grin matching his as he takes my hands in his. My grandfather opens the wedding, but it is harder to tear away from Thorin than I thought it’d be.

My grandfather poured the wine, handing us the goblets. We lock our arms around each other pressing the goblets to our lips and drinking the wine. _In recognition of this partnership, in battle and in peace._

The glasses are taken from us and we are led to the candles to light. _What was once two now is one._

We clasp hands again and the ivy is tied around us. _To link what none dare break in strength, faithfulness, and honor._

Fili steps toward us first, holding out matching silver beads. Thorin braids hair on my left side and clasps it closed before I do the same for his left side. When he stepped aside, Kili stepped forward, holding out gold wedding bands with three diamond studs each. This time I lead, placing a ring on his left hand before he mimes me before leaning down to kiss me, backed by an applause which slowly died.

There’s just… _one_ last thing to do.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Balin said. “Please kneel.” I nod, kneeling on one knee. He handed Thorin a sword which was unsheathed.

“Do you vow,” Thorin began, his voice echoing off the air, “Bilbo son of Bungo, to uphold honor and glory in the name of the king of Durin’s Line?”

“I do.”

“Do you vow to rule with surety, wisdom, and power?”

“I do.”

Thorin pressed the flat of his blade to my shoulders. “I crown you Prince Bilbo, Consort of Erebor, a Hobbit of the Line of Durin. _Melekûn Rayad, Khazad Bâh._ ”

I stand as cheers broke out through the crowd. It was almost a relief to disappear into the crowd and go to the feast.

#

The dance circle was remade, Dwarves and Hobbits each trying to pull each other in one direction or the other. Others had developed a new dance where two lines were made and two partners would skip down the line and back before breaking apart and running down to the end of the line.

Others kept close to the ale and mead, bawdy songs screeching into the air. Several went back for more roasted pork and bread rolls. Gandalf’s fireworks popped and cracked in the air, sending waves of red, gold, blue, and many other colored sparks through the air.

Thorin and I traded off dancing with our family. It was a relief to get out of the coat and vest and ascot. The crowns remained guarded by Fili and Kili, who were far more interested in stealing the cake with the faunts and Dwarflings to really be adequate guards.

Then again, who’d steal two crowns? What use do they have for them?

I found my way back to my husband—I’m actually quite glad I could transition from fiancé to husband as easily as I did—for the last dance.

“Are you glad it’s almost midnight?” I ask, grinning. “Because I look forward to having you for myself for a little while.”

“Just a little while?” Thorin asked. “You think so poorly of our luck?”

“Well, can you blame me when we have two little nephews of the name Fili and Kili?”

“If they try anything, we’ll just sic Dis on them.”

I laugh, swaying to the beat, and catch his lips with mine. “ _Men lananubukhs menu_ ,” I say, the words humming in my throat. Khuzdul is a bitch to learn with how far back in the throat it has to be for the pronunciations to be properly done! Thorin grins, pulling me as close as possible. “ _Men lananubukhs menu_ ,” I repeat, giggling at the feral growl lodged in Thorin’s throat.

“Master Baggins, you are seducing me?”

“And if I am? Is that not allowed? Am I not allowed to tease my husband, _âzyungel_?”

“Save it for the bedroom, Bilbo!” Dad shouts. I blush, hiding my face in Thorin’s chest. Of course he’d have to make a speech before the party ends. I just hope it’s not that embarrassing…

~Seventeen Years Later~

_…will be home after the mid-Spring festival. Fili and Kili might be back before me. I miss you, Sanûrzud._

_Men lananubukhs menu, Bilbo._

_~Thorin_

I set the letter back down and head outside for a smoke, enjoying the breeze on my face and the smell of the Brandywine’s shores, lighting my pipe and taking a drag.

It’ll be good to have Thorin home again. It’ll be good to have everyone home again, actually, now that I think about it. Neither Bag End nor River Hill are meant to be empty…

Smoke hits my nose and I cough, opening my eyes. Gandalf stares back at me and I blink. “Good morning, Gandalf.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, going on about the different meanings two little words could have and thoroughly confusing me.

“All of them at once, I suppose, standing. “Would you like to come inside?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Bilbo. You see, I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

“Have you tried one of the Dwarves? I’m sure you’ll—”

“The task I have in mind is for a Hobbit,” Gandalf said.

“I can’t,” I say. “You _know_ I can’t.” Gandalf hums, narrowing his eyes at me. “Gandalf, Thorin will be home tomorrow and I can’t—I _won’t_ —go running off like that! I've a family expecting me to be here when they come home!”

“This adventure is one you’re husband is putting together,” he said, arching a brow. “Does that change your mind?” 

“Well it certainly wets the appetite,” I say. “Are you sure you won’t come in for tea. Because I suddenly got an interest in hearing all about this adventure.” And I do. How am I supposed to react to hearing that Thorin and a select few others (far too few at that) are going to traipse across Middle Earth to take back a dragon-infested mountain?!

Thorin’s a dead dwarf when he gets home.

~The End~


End file.
